


'Til the Ink Runs Dry

by yee_haw23



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Cunnilingus, Enemies to Lovers, F/F, Ineffable Wives (Good Omens), Light BDSM, Light Dom/sub, Sexual Tension, Switch Aziraphale (Good Omens), Switch Crowley (Good Omens), Teasing, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:28:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 23,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23189969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yee_haw23/pseuds/yee_haw23
Summary: Crowley was shell shocked. She was never called out like this. And she was certainly never berated for trying to maintain her shop’s ground. She stood, an indignant look on her face, “This is hardly the last you’ve heard of me, angel,” she spit the name out like poison, a jab that wouldn’t land.As she turned and got to the door, she heard Aziraphale’s sweet voice again, “Oh, and Crowley?” she whipped her head around to meet Aziraphale’s warm gaze, “I do love your work.”***Human A/U where Crowley is determined to takedown Aziraphale and her tattoo parlor at any and all costs... or so she thinks.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 52
Kudos: 124





	1. A Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> if you've read my previous works you won't be surprised that there are no betas yet again. any mistakes are my own! the rating is T only because my teacher heart says that the language in subsequent chapters isn't appropriate for Gen Audience, rip. rating will likely go up to M if not E.
> 
> edit: rating has changed to E for the final chapter. 1-8 are rated T mostly for language. Dom/Sub + BDSM is VERY light (like hands being held down/hair-pulling) but you never know who wants to avoid that.

The storefront before Miss Antonia Crowley had a rather difficult time staying open. It wasn’t the location, it was surrounded by popular shops and restaurants that boomed even when tourists weren’t running about. It certainly wasn’t a cosmetic issue. For being an old building, the place was very well kept. And it had nothing to do with poor business management. In fact, the witchy shop that has opened there last fall had done rather well. And Crowley had enjoyed Madame Tracy and her antics. But Madame Tracy needed more space, so she set off for a new shop (which Crowley still frequented).

No, these were not the problems with the storefront before Miss Crowley. The problem was that five out of the last six shops that opened here were tattoo shops. And Crowley simply couldn’t have that.

Down the block and around the corner was Crowley’s own tattoo shop, Snake’s Mark. One she’d worked her ass off to buy and maintain. She’d only been tattooing for a decade now and she didn’t like the idea of other shops encroaching on her territory.

For all Crowley cared, this was her little corner of Soho. No one else could compare.

So whenever a little tattoo shop tried to spread its wings at this particular location, Crowley did her research, found the artist’s (or artists’) weak spots, and barraged them with bad reviews so they would lose business and leave. And if she couldn’t do that, well she’d find a way to make them look like they were violating health codes.

Was it ethical? Not entirely. But Crowley was hell-bent on being the most notable artist in the area before she was thirty. She was currently on the fast track and she only had two years to go.

And that’s what brought her to the storefront once again. A new sign was put up, declaring this new tattoo shop, soon to be victim number six of Crowley’s ploy, Ink of Angels.

Crowley had done her research. The shop was run by one woman, a Miss Fell, who specialized in watercolor and a number of fantasy and literature pieces. Miss Fell chose her clients wisely and required all of them to meet her in person before tattooing in order to discuss pricing, sketches, and the like.

So Crowley set up an appointment. It was as if Miss Fell was making Crowley’s objective even easier. How easy it would be to find the flaws in her and her shop when Crowley was invited straight in. 

Checking her watch and finding she would be 10 minutes late, Crowley finally strolled into the shop. 

Immediately Crowley took stock of the environment. It hardly looked like a tattoo shop. The front counter was adorned with plants and flowers-- some of which needed better care, Crowley noted; below, the young woman had added shelving to store what looked like incredibly old books. To the right of the counter stood a small table with two chairs and a platter set for tea. The walls of the place were a pale blue that made the shop seem much brighter and larger. Behind the counter sat one singular tattoo chair and a wall mirror. Hung around the place were various works of art, presumably Miss Fell’s. Each piece was a beautiful mix of nature and fantasy, a harsh contrast to the bold tattoos adorning Crowley’s skin.

“Ah, Miss Antonia, is it?” Crowley was brought back to reality by a sweet voice, “I was just about to call. I was worried you’d forgotten about our appointment.”

Miss Fell’s warm smile fit her entire aesthetic. She was curvy, broad, and soft with fat shaping her hips and thighs, and a soft belly to match. Her demeanor was welcoming and sincere. Her platinum blonde hair fell in waves down her shoulders even after being pinned to the sides. The color of the strands was nearly blinding but made her soft blue eyes all the more striking. She was clothed in creams and blues from head to toe: a blue blouse so light it almost seemed white at first glance tucked into navy blue trousers cropped just before the ankle and a cream knit cardigan with sleeves rolled up to expose ink-free forearms. Crowley was loathed to admit it, but she was stunning and inviting.

“Apologies Miss Fell, city traffic and all. And please, call me Toni”

“Oh, there’s no need for formalities, Toni. Aziraphale is my name, you may address me as such,” she gestured to the table topped with tea, “please take a seat, get comfortable,” Aziraphale pulled the chair out for her ushering her to sit and followed suit after, placing a folder in front of her and busying herself pouring tea, “So my apprentice mentioned that you’re looking for a tattoo of a serpent,” she glanced briefly at Crowley’s bare arms and the other exposed parts of her skin— all of which were covered in tattoos, “you hardly seem like you have room,” she laughed softly.

Crowley smiled in return, “And you’re a tattoo artist who hardly seems to have any,” her mouth twisted into a smirk with eyebrows raised. Tattoo artists with no tattoos were easy to write off as less knowledgeable, a perfect spot to hit. She was met only with a rueful smile from Aziraphale.

“Well do you have an ideal placement for the serpent?” Aziraphale hardly missed a beat.

“I was thinking about it having a head resting on my hand and having parts peak through my other tattoos along my arm and back. There are a few tattoos I’d like to cover too. Do you think that would work?” it was a tricky request. A large area, coverups, filling space with no real idea of the complete snake. A complicated design to say the least. One that a skilled artist could handle. One that would show a weak point if denied.

“Hmmm. May I see your arm, dear?” she reached one arm onto the table, offering her hand as a resting place for Crowley’s wrist. Crowley extended her arm and placed it gingerly in Aziraphale’s grasp as she placed glasses on her nose, twisting and examining the canvas.

“Sorry, you mentioned your apprentice told you what I wanted. Do you not handle communications and requests here?”

“Not electronic ones, unfortunately. Technology is not my forte, which is why I’m glad Adam is around. He gives me the names and appointment times, I do the rest.”

Crowley smiled softly; so what if it was a tiny weak spot, technology was massive these days. Knowing your own artist wouldn’t be communicating with you in a flash? That’s worrisome.

Aziraphale caressed her arm lightly, examining the ink already there, sending sparks down Crowley’s spine. Her hands were smooth as they gently prodded the flesh, looking for areas to ink. The gentleness in it set something aflame in Crowley, something she couldn’t quite place, sparking a flame of discomfort in her. Crowley never did well with discomfort, it always made her lash out.

“Well depending on which of these you’d like to cover up, I should be able to make it work. Do you have a color scheme in mind?” she gave Crowley’s wrist a reassuring squeeze and released Crowley’s arm. 

“Sure. Reds and black. I’d like something that looks a little iridescent. I sent reference pictures but if you’re not using technology—“

“I have the reference pictures, dear,” she smiled warmly, “Adam showed me them and printed them, so no worries on that front.”

Crowley crinkled her nose and smiled tightly, feigning excitement, “Oh will it hurt? On the hand?” Crowley made doe eyes at Aziraphale, pretending to have no knowledge of the pain. While she had never gotten hand tattoos herself, she knew they could hurt then they were so close to the bones.

“Pain is different for every person. I’ve often heard that it’s similar to—“

Crowley cut her off with a wave and a condescending smile, “Oh silly me. I shouldn’t ask someone who has no tattoos.”

Aziraphale smiled warmly again and closed the folder she had begun to ruffle through.

“Apologies, Miss Crowley,” the use of her surname stunned Crowley, she’d never provided a surname, “but I will not be talked down to. I know who you are and I know what you do,” she began putting the folder behind the counter, “In fact, I know what you’re doing right now. You’re sitting here, trying to find what imperfections I have as an artist so that you can tell your friends to rate me so poorly that I have no choice but to leave,” she collected the teacups, most of Crowley’s had sat untouched, and placed them back on the platter.

“I’ve been warned by nearly every tattoo shop in the general area about purchasing this shop. But I won’t have that, Miss Crowley,” she stood with her arms on her hips, looming over Crowley, “I’ve been tattooing for nearly 15 years. I am damn good at what I do because I put care and attention into every detail,” though her tone was harsh, her features and smile were still soft as ever, grating Crowley’s ego, “You will not drive me out as you have driven the others out,” with that she relaxed once again, “So, if you would like a tattoo and want to schedule a genuine meeting, I’d be happy to. Otherwise, I think it’s best you leave.”

Crowley was shell shocked. She was never called out like this. And she was certainly never berated for trying to maintain her shop’s ground. She stood, an indignant look on her face, “This is hardly the last you’ve heard of me, angel,” she spit the name out like poison, a jab that wouldn’t land.

As she turned and got to the door, she heard Aziraphale’s sweet voice again, “Oh, and Crowley?” she whipped her head around to meet Aziraphale’s warm gaze, “I do love your work.”

Crowley gawked and pushed through the door, anger and shame rising in her core. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally working on posting a multichapter work! this bad boy has been on the drawing board for months! i'm hoping to get a consistent schedule of posting once per week. but at the rate this thing is being written, and because i kind of know exactly how i want this to go, i may be posting more like every 3 to 4 days.
> 
> as per my usual, kudos are always amazing and very appreciated. even the simplest comments will bring tears of joy to my eyes bc they mean the world to me. tell me what you like, what you don't, and what you wanna see <3


	2. An Old Friend

Crowley had stalked back to her shop, anger bubbling into a disastrous mess that would explode at the first misstep of those around her. Luckily for Crowley, the artists in her shop were mostly incompetent, making it rather easy to let that anger out nearly immediately.

It was poor Hastur who had to endure her wrath. He’d forgotten to set up her station for her next appointment. He was only a month into his apprenticeship with Bee and every day he questioned how it was that Crowley yelled at him more than Bee ever did.

“Where the fuck is Bee, Hastur?” 

“I don’t know, Toni. They said they were leaving ‘bout fifteen minutes ago.”

“Well fucking find them, then. Someone’s sake, you can be so idiotic,” Crowley began setting up her station, using the rhythm of the familiar movements to calm her down.

She had no reason to be so angry. Surely it wouldn’t be difficult to tear the new shop down, even if Aziraphale did seem perfectly perfect. The thought of her perfect little smile welcoming new clients, clients that could be Crowley’s, filled her with frustration again. She cleaned the chair beside her and washed her hands, once again having to work herself back down.

By the time the bell above the door rang softly, Crowley had worked her temper back into place. She’d have to apologize to Hastur later, maybe buy him a drink.

“Anathema, how are you?” Crowley smiled widely at the American woman. She was finishing her third tattoo with Crowley today, a regular that Crowley had grown to adore.

“Not great, Crowley. Boyfriend and I are fighting,” she heaved a sigh and laid on the chair, propping her arm onto the rest beside her.

Crowley was finishing up a sasquatch on the American woman’s arm, “Hmm that’s why I never deal with them much. Too fight-y. What’s he mad about then?”

“My tattoos, I guess. He said something about how I shouldn’t have so many. It’s not like I can take them off my skin, you know?” Anathema started falling into a passion, hands instinctively trying to move to emphasize her speech.

“Hands still, Anathema. I’m about to put a needle to the arm attached.”

“Right, sorry. I just get so frustrated. I understand some people have a stigma towards them or whatever but it’s just art. Art that happens to be on my skin.”

“Ready to get started?” Crowley asked, knowing Anathema would just continue her rant.

“Yeah,” she took a deep breath in, breathing out as the needle began dragging across her skin, “I’m just tired of him getting so upset over this, you know? It’s my body--”

“Arm, Anathema,” Crowley lifted the needle, narrowly missing a mistake by Anathema’s flexing muscles.

“Shit, sorry, I’ll stop. I know you’re not much for chatter anyway,” Anathema smiled briefly and shut her eyes, trying to relax.

Crowley’s attention was on shading alone. With the hum of the needle and the attention needed to properly blend colors, Crowley nearly forgot about getting so angry at Aziraphale earlier in the day. As she began the last of her shading, she thought about popping over to Tracy’s new shop. It’d been a while since she’d stopped to see her and Madam Tracy always left Crowley in higher spirits. Probably something to do with the tarot and tea.

As Crowley began wiping away the excess ink, she smiled up at Anathema, “This is going to look great on camera. Ready to schedule the next one?” she took off her gloves, took a few photos, and began taping clingfilm to the area.

Anathema hesitated, “Well, I-- uh-- I want to. But, um, I just-- I need to save some money for now. Newt had a point there.”

Crowley’s brow furrowed, “Well we could work out a payment plan. I trust you’d pay me fairly for my work.”

“Maybe, yeah. Let me just work out some stuff first, ‘kay? This certainly won’t be my last with you,” she smiled softly at Crowley.

“‘Course,” she gave a tight lipped smile; something seemed off but she wasn’t going to push it. If Anathema was skeptical of her work, she would have said something much sooner, “‘Til next time, then, whenever that may be.”

“I promise it won’t be long. I just need to save money and I really don’t want to make payments. I feel better getting it all out of the way. It’d just start another fight I don’t really want to deal with,” Crowley could tell she was upset about it, but there was something more to the reasoning. It seemed like she was hiding something, but Crowley was never one to force someone to divulge secrets they weren’t willing to share openly.

They exchanged their goodbyes and Crowley set to cleaning up her station. As she finished, she heard the bell ring above the shop door signaling the entrance of Bee and Ligur.

“I’m back, your Majesty. What was it that was oh so important that it demanded my presence,” Bee’s words dripped with sarcasm, their attitude of indifference to Crowley’s desires apparent.

Crowley rolled her eyes, “D’ya have any appointments today?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Would you mind looking after the shop then? Do any walk-ins? Maybe Ligur can even try his hand at a few,” Crowley was already putting on her jacket and sunglasses, a clear sign the decision had been made and that Bee had little choice in the matter, “I’ve gotta run somewhere.”

“I s’pose. But you owe this one a drink,” they pointed their thumb behind their shoulder to Ligur.

“Yeah, yeah, he’ll get his drink come Friday, promise,” Crowley grabbed her bag and shuffled past the pair.

A perilous drive through the crowded streets of London was just what she needed right now. She climbed into the seat of her Bentley, a gift from her great-grandfather to her grandfather to her father to her, always kept in the best condition, and could feel the tension between her shoulders release. Yes, a drive through London and a cup of tea from Madam Tracy were exactly what she needed after being so thoroughly unnerved by Aziraphale’s calm and kind nature.

It wasn’t exactly that the kindness unsettled her-- Crowley knew plenty of kind people. It was the fact that Aziraphale had seemed so sincere. So sincere, in fact, that it seemed almost fake. Considering the fact that Crowley had just barged into her shop, subtly criticised her, and then she had the audacity to genuinely compliment Crowley on her work, Crowley found it hard to believe that she was that good down to her core.

While her behavior with Aziraphale was not her typical nature, Crowley knew she was rather coarse and hard to deal with. It made making friends difficult. It made keeping her reputation intact even harder. So to receive a real genuine compliment after being so cold unnerved Crowley to her core.

But there was something roiling beneath that discomfort in Crowley’s stomach-- that feeling that had shot through her when Aziraphale was examining her arm-- that she couldn’t identify in the slightest. And that feeling, Crowley determined as she cut-off another driver on the road, was best left to unravel on another day. For now, she would simply speed her way through Central London, blast Queen in the process, and sing obnoxiously along with dear Freddie.

She had, undoubtedly, infuriated no less than ten drivers during her perilous journey and slammed into a spot just a block from Tracy’s shop. The cool evening air was a relief to Crowley after spending much of her day brooding. She paused and peered in a passing window to fix her hair which had, as it always did when she drove, found itself a mess. Combing through the short red locks, she gave herself a quick once over and found herself unusually proud of the reflection staring back at her. Most days she hated looking at her sharp lines but today she marvelled at their beauty.

Content, she worked her way over to Tracy’s, smelling the shop before seeing it.

Madame Tracy had a habit of filling the place with incense and constantly lighting different candles. The result was a distinct smell that you could pinpoint from quite the distance. It filled Crowley’s heart with that sense of familiarity she had hoped to find coming to see her.

She pushed through the doors, setting off the chimes that alerted Tracy to customers. From the back, she heard shuffling and a muffled, “Just a moment, dearie.”

Crowley leaned against the counter, awaiting Tracy’s arrival, prepping for the fretting that she would no doubt be on the receiving end of. She heard the steps get closer as Madame Tracy emerged from the back room.

“What can I--” she met Crowley’s eyes and broke into a massive smile, “Oh darling, look at you, just as beautiful as when I saw you last,” she crossed the room to Crowley and kissed her cheeks, “Look at you, you’re quite the image. How are you, dear?” she hardly gave Crowley the breath to answer, “Why don’t you come back for some tea? Something is on your mind I can tell. And I have an old friend I’d like you to meet. She’s already set up back there-- we just finished a tarot reading.”

Tracy linked arms with Crowley and began walking her back, chattering about nothing to fill the air with her excitement. Already Crowley’s spirits were lifting. As they rounded the corner the back parlor, Crowley took in the look of a familiar figure.

All cream and blue hues, impossibly soft and inviting, Aziraphale turned to meet Crowley’s eyes.

“Dearie, I’d like you to meet--”

“Aziraphale,” Crowley felt the familiar unease and mysterious something up lash at her insides again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the chapter count went up bc the next chapter is being split into two different chapters! there's a bit of witchy stuff and my lil witch heart got carried away. had to make it accurate and add banter which made it much longer than i anticipate it going originally! anyway hope you enjoyed my loves!
> 
> kudos spark joy, comments make me lose my fuckin mind.


	3. A Reading

“Ah, Crowley, is it?” Aziraphale’s smile was just as warm and welcoming as it had been earlier that day, grating Crowley’s nerves just a little more.

“That’s Toni to you,” her tone was far more harsh than intended, “My friends call me Crowley. You call me Toni,” her biting retort was met with yet another rueful smile from the blonde across the room. Something about that smile made Crowley’s heart clench, surely fueling the fire to her anger.

Before Aziraphale could respond, Tracy slapped Crowley lightly on the shoulder, “Now there’s no need to be rude, Crowley. She’s an old friend of mine and a new friend of yours. She’ll call you Crowley or I’ll have you out of my shop.”

While Crowley knew that Tracy was likely kidding, she relented, not wanting to ruin what was supposed to be a soothing endeavor. She mumbled her apologies to Tracy and raised her eyes to meet Aziraphale’s, that same warmth shining through with just a hint of mischief gleaming in them.  _ Bastard.  _

“For Madame Tracy’s sake, then, you may call me Crowley tonight,” Crowley half wished she’d brought her sunglasses in with her to hide the rage that was no doubt beaming through her eyes. She’d been cursed with the most expressive face and hated that Aziraphale could see her every emotion.

“If you would rather, Crowley,” she tested the name in her mouth, “I could go. Madame Tracy and I were just finishing up and I’m cert—“

“Nonsense, dearie,” Tracy’s voice cut in firmly, “Crowley’s just a bit rough ‘round the edges. She’ll warm up,” she lowered her voice, attempting to whisper and failing horrifically, “She’s a big softie under there, promise,” for that, Tracy received her own smack on the shoulder from Crowley, “You know it’s true, sweetheart. No sense hiding that.”

She gestured for Crowley to sit next to Aziraphale at the table and Crowley begrudgingly complied.

Tracy poured a cup of tea for them both and began chattering about anything and everything. Mostly to Crowley about the location change and how business was doing. The new regulars she’d acquired and the odd rude customer.

During her prattling, Crowley couldn’t help but notice how often Aziraphale’s gaze drifted towards in her own direction. Just out of the corners of her eyes, Crowley could catch Aziraphale looking rather intently at her. Crowley couldn’t help but spread herself out a bit more, making the show worthwhile.

Sure there was something Crowley couldn’t stand about Aziraphale, but she’d be damned if she didn’t admit she liked being ogled by the right person. And this felt, for better or worse, right.

As Aziraphale’s stares were getting more and more frequent, Madame Tracy suddenly remembered something, “Oh Crowley, dear, we had the most lovely reading with Aziraphale before you came,” at the mention of her tarot reading, Aziraphale’s head whipped back to Tracy, “All about some new young lady she might fancy. All lovely things,” Aziraphale’s cheeks began to warm, sporting the beginnings of a blush on the apples of her cheeks, “Bit of a rough start but it seems to me that Aziraphale may have found quite the lover,” Crowley felt a shot of jealousy run through her. Tarot readings with Tracy were Crowley’s thing. It was not the topic of the reading fueling that swirling pit of ire but the mere thought of Aziraphale encroaching on yet another aspect of Crowley’s life.

“Is that so?” Crowley feigned interest, attempting to hide the jealousy rising in her, “That's actually why I stopped by. Your readings always soothe me and I’ve had a rather *** _ stressful _ day,” she shot a glare to Aziraphale, “Think you’re up for one more?”

Delight shone on Madame Tracy’s face, “For you, dear, anything. Now let me shuffle. Think of your question or problem while I do so.”

_ How the hell do I get this woman out of her shop? This perfectly lovely, warm, kind leech of a shop owner. I just want to have my little corner. She can go wherever she pleases just not there. _

Crowley continued to repeat similar thoughts until Tracy broke her concentration, “Now tell me is it about love? Family? Work?”

“Work,” Crowley was quick to respond, shooting a sidelong glance at Aziraphale, who rolled her eyes.

Tracy clucked her tongue, “Always so concerned with work, you. Very well,” she drew five cards and spread them face down before her.

“You’re familiar with my spreads, yes? First two are past influences, second two are present influences, and the final is the potential outcome. Now first we have the eight of pentacles reversed. In the past you’ve been a bit of a perfectionist— though I don’t think that’s changed any,” Aziraphale let out a soft laugh at that, “This is a good sign that you’ve been working incredibly hard on making yourself the best at what you do but it also suggests that you’ve been doing so so much that you’re creating more problems. Or putting your time and effort into things that aren’t worth that effort. Perhaps putting energy into projects that don’t benefit you in the long run,” Crowley could feel the smirk growing on Aziraphale’s face.

“Next we have the 7 of swords. You’ve been deceitful in the past, huh?” she leveled a look at Crowley, “I’m not surprised. This suggests you’ve done some sneaking around. And you’ve been quite good at it. You’ve planned and acted decisively for whatever gains you needed. But doing so leads to betrayal, mistrust. It’s best to leave these things in the past, dearie.”

Aziraphale hummed in agreement, prompting a sharp look from Crowley which was only met with a playful smirk.

“Moving on to our present, we have the Queen of Cups, which is strange for you Crowley. Not to say that you don’t embody any of the Queens traits,” she peered at the card for a while, closing her eyes and breathing deeply, “I sense that this is a new person in your life. Someone caring and compassionate,” Crowley’s eyes met with Aziraphale’s and she quickly looked away-- a blush now starting at the top of her cheekbones to match Aziraphale’s previous, “They’re meant to help you feel more connected to your goals and help you get there. They’ll be there to support and guide you if you allow them.”

She turned the next card and rolled her eyes, “The 5 of wands tells me there’s a competition of sorts at play,” Crowley allowed a shit eating grin to slip onto her face, glancing briefly at Aziraphale, who only rolled her eyes and laughed gently, “This indicates miscommunication because of a refusal to listen. When you have so much anger and tension, you neglect to see the ways that others can help you. Opening your ears for once in your life might do you some good, dear.”

Aziraphale laughed openly at that, quickly moving to cover her mouth as if she hadn’t intended to allow herself such an open display of merriment. Her gaze turned to Crowley and was, to Crowley’s surprise, rather apologetic. Crowley simply waved her away, fighting the smirk that was trying to make its way to her lips.

“And lastly, how this is all going to turn out for you,” she turned the last card over and muttered quietly to herself, “Oh dear.”

“What is it?” Crowley peaked at the card and saw what looked like a building falling apart whilst burning, “Certainly looks terrible.”

“Well dearie, I hope you weren’t planning on whatever it is you’re planning to work out. ‘Cause this says it’s going to go terribly wrong. Tower moments only happen when you build your intentions on unstable grounds— being too hasty or not thinking things through. It leads to chaos and ruin.”

With that, Aziraphale lightly squeezed Crowley’s arm, forcing her to meet Aziraphale’s almost pleading eyes. That same feeling clenched in Crowley’s stomach-- the rage blanketing something unknown. She gently shook Aziraphale’s hand off, averting her gaze back to the table, attempting to appear unfazed.

As the resentment began to build in Crowley, Madame Tracy took her hand, “However, and this is important, it leads to an awakening. An opportunity for complete renewal. A moment where you can sort through the rubble, find what worked, and start with a new foundation,” she squeezed Crowley’s hand, “Part of growing includes falling down, dearie.”

Crowley’s stubborn attitude reared its head-- certainly a silly tarot reading wouldn’t predict the outcome. Even Madame Tracy always said that it was just a guide. Crowley would simply have to get smarter, plan better. There would be no Tower moments for her.

A silence permeated the air as Crowley began brooding about how to change what the cards had predicted. It hung heavy around Madame Tracy and Aziraphale, a weight charged with electricity as Crowley’s irritation became more apparent.

Tracy cut the silence with a quiet voice, “Would you like tea, Crowley?”

Broken out of her reverie, Crowley became aware of how tense she had become. She forced herself to relax, and smiled, “Please, if you could.”

Tracy squeezed her hand once more and rose to make some tea in the other room. The electric air still surrounding Crowley and Aziraphale.

Aziraphale cleared her throat, bringing Crowley’s glare to the side of her, “I do apologize, Antonia. I’m sure that isn’t what you were looking to h--”

“It’s Toni and I don’t need pity from you,” however, when Aziraphale actually turned to look at her, she saw no pity in her eyes. She saw, instead, genuine concern written all over Aziraphale’s face.

“Pity is reserved for those whose plight you do not understand. I know how important your work is to you,” though her gaze was still gentle and kind, her tone became much sharper, jarring Crowley and feeding that suspicious pool of whatever in her stomach.

“Whatever it is, I don’t need it. I don’t need anything from you.”

With finality in her tone, something in Aziraphale seemed to break-- the light draining from her face as she dropped her gaze to her hands in her lap, wringing them.

In the back of Crowley’s mind, a voice screamed to grab her hands in her own and apologize for lashing out, but Crowley pushed it down. She wouldn’t be made to feel sorry for someone she was trying to hate.

After a few minutes, Tracy returned with the tea and three cups, beaming as if she hadn’t tried to crush Crowley’s dreams. But it wasn’t like Crowley could be mad at her for it. As soon as she had set down the tea and cups, Aziraphale rose.

“I must be going. It’s rather late for me,” she smiled, a small sad thing, looking between both Crowley and Tracy.

“Already, dearie? Not even one more cup of tea?” Madame Tracy’s brows furrowed.

“I’m afraid not. It was lovely to see you,” she kissed Tracy’s cheeks, “And I’ll be seeing you again, Toni, I’m sure,” her tone was almost sad-- full of regret at the fact that Crowley would continue to pursue her plans.

Crowley nodded, not trusting her voice to not say something ridiculous.

When she was out of the room, Madame Tracy leveled a look at Crowley, “You ought to be nicer to her. She’d be good for you.”

Crowley choked on her tea, “Ngk-- good for me? I don’t know what you’re talking about. And I was perfectly sociable.” She was a little put off by the implication Madame Tracy was making.

Tracy rolled her eyes, “Drink your tea, dearie. Then go home and think on what I told you.”

Crowley hadn’t come to Tracy to be mothered but she had been nonetheless. As she walked back to her car after parting ways with Madame Tracy, she thought back to Aziraphale. Her unsettling kindness and the welcoming air she had. As much as she wanted to believe it was genuine, nearly every part of her brain screamed that it was fake.

But somewhere, in a quiet corner, a voice whispered back to her, “Maybe it’s how we deserve to be treated.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeehaw my friends! the next update might be a little longer bc ya girl is strugglin with her mental health rn. it feels very good to do something productive (like write) but it also takes so much energy to make myself do it.


	4. An Agreement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> are we gonna go up in chapter count again? just might! we just fuckin might.

It had been weeks since Crowley had seen Madame Tracy and the reading she gave her had long since faded from Crowley’s memory. But all of her interactions with Aziraphale seemed cemented in her brain.

Every smirk and smile the woman had sent her way made Crowley’s heart clench when looking back. The brief touches lingering in her memory, getting her caught in daydreams she would never admit to having. Of being held and loved and cared for. And if the woman in her fantasies was Aziraphale, well... she’d never tell a soul.

But the memory that stuck out the most, the one that almost pained Crowley, was the look on Aziraphale’s face and the tone of her voice as she left. As if she felt remorseful for something.

The more Crowley thought about that face and that voice, the more she got angry. How  _ dare _ she try to make Crowley feel bad when she was just trying to secure her place as an artist. There was nothing wrong with what Crowley was doing. Nothing at all. And to try and butter her up with coy smiles and those sweet looks. She had to wonder if it wasn’t all a ploy to get Crowley off her back.

So Crowley would continue with her plan at whatever cost. Which brought her to her interview any minute now.

Crowley hated interviews with a passion. But there were two benefits to having bloggers or journalists barging in with their inane questions: it gave Crowley the exposure she desperately needed to expand business and it allowed her to slander her competition. (Not too coarsely, that would dissuade people from coming in after all).

She’d been contacted by some blogger type-- she still wasn’t exactly sure who this man wrote for, just that his name was Gabriel-- for an interview about young artists. Crowley initially jumped at the opportunity, but anxiety started to rise up in her chest. One misstep could very well set her off her path.

Before she could get too lost in her thoughts, the shop bell rang, bringing her attention to a rather stodgy looking man. Tall and broad but otherwise plain. Until that smile plastered on his face.  _ Ah, American _ . The closer he got, the more Crowley noticed how eerie he looked-- clad in a suit, tan with that huge smile--

“Ah, Antonia, is it?” And a booming American accent to match. Lovely.

“Yeah, but please, call me Toni,” Antonia always felt so formal to her. She much preferred Toni, even though that grated her ears as well. Crowley had always seemed to fit better but not many people got the privilege to call her such-- that took a little more time and trust.

“Right, Toni,” he stuck his hand across the counter, reaching for a handshake, “the name’s Gabriel White,” his grip was almost crushing as Crowley counted down its release. That unsettling grin was still smeared across his face, making Crowley regret this decision just a little.

She grabbed a stool and placed it so Gabriel could sit across the counter from her, trying to remain polite.

“So, what’s this all about?”

“I’m writing a series on young artists in all mediums. Your name was given to me by an, um, colleague, of sorts,” Gabriel rarely broke eye contact as he set up a recorder and notepad. The whole scenario filled Crowley with terror, but she forced herself to act like she was fine.

“Ah, well that’s good to hear then. Glad to know someone is thinking of me,” she let out a soft cordial laugh.

“Right, well. You ready to get started? I’m going to record for clarity, if that’s okay with you?”

“Yeah. I’ve got no secrets, me.”

“Great! So let’s start with the most basic, what got you into art?”

Crowley smiled to herself, thinking of the rebellious youth who wanted to go against the grain, “I always wanted to find the right way to express myself. I experimented with different mediums of expression for a while as a kid. Photography, painting, theatre. Whatever allowed me to put my passion into something. I found the perfect medium in drawing. I could take my feelings and turn them into these works that made people think. It was fun as a teenager, to provoke thought like that, I suppose.”

“So then why transition into tattooing,” his tone was almost judgemental but not offensive. It rubbed Crowley the wrong way regardless.

“Because it was unexpected,” her tone was clipped. She tried reigning the irritation in.

“Unexpected?”

“Most people thought I’d go into design. Or work for some corporation. Tattoos were the far more interesting route.”

“Hmm, interesting. And you’ve been doing this for nearly a decade now?”

“Yep,” she popped the p.

“How have you found success for so long? You’re young. Have your own shop, a fairly decent reputation,” there was a hint of accusation in his tone.

“Lots of hard work. A little sacrifice. Determination. That sorta thing,” Crowley crossed her arms. Men often took this tone with her, like they doubted her accomplishments or her success. It always made her more snarky.

“You’re the only shop around here, right?” Crowley nodded, smiling right back at Gabriel’s smarmy face, “Except for that one up the way. There’s been quite a few shops there, if I’ve done my research well. What makes your shop different? Why have you stayed in business?” He cocked his head to the side, a sort of knowing smile playing at his mouth.

Crowley took a deep breath in, “Well, I, uh, hmmm,” she pretended to think. Most interviewers had attributed the shop closing to her abilities cornering the market, they never asked her what it was that made her stay open, “I’ve been here ‘bout half my career. A little loyalty might keep people coming. Other than that I’m not sure. Maybe the shop’s cursed,” she gave a smirk at that.

Gabriel crinkled his eyes, “Have you seen the new shop? Angel’s Kiss or whatever?”

“It’s Ink of Angels,” the sharp tone was back, “And yes. I have been. Even talked to the owner.”

“And what did you think of him?”

“Her.”

“Apologies,” clearly he was not apologetic, “What did you think of her?”  _ Condescending prick. _

Crowley began chewing on her lip. Part of her wanted to ream into Aziraphale and get what she needed out of this interview. But this Gabriel was such a tosser she didn’t feel great about disparaging a fellow woman tattooist. That pit of anger mixed with the unknown began wringing about her stomach again. She breathed heavily through her nose: honesty would be the way to go, “To be honest, she’s incredibly kind and welcoming but- it- it just seems a bit- well, fake to me, I s’pose.”

Gabriel laughed softly at that, “Fake? How so?”

Crowley shifted in her seat, “It’s just that, when people are that- nice, if you will, sometimes it feels disingenuine. That’s the feeling I get from her.”

“And what of her ability as an artist?”

“I would be lying if I said she wasn’t good,” and that was the honest to God truth.

“Who’s better?”

“S’cuse me?” A wave of shock went through her. Of all her interviews, she’d never been asked to compare herself technically with another artist.

“Who’s better? You or Miss…?”

“Miss Fell,” Gabriel’s expression faltered at the mention of her name, “and that’s a bit unprofessional, innit? Comparing two artists with different styles?”

His resolve reappeared, “I hardly think so. If you have any doubts about your… superior abilities then you must think she’s the better artist.”

“Now that’s one thing I won’t do,” Crowley could feel that roiling anger rising up through her throat as she began speaking just a touch louder and faster, “Can’t put us two against one another like that. I will admit her personality rubs me the wrong way. I think she’s far too formal with her presentation to clientele and much pickier. I think I can accomplish a greater range than she can because of that. She’s got the wrong energy for a tattoo shop. But she’s a good artist. As am I,” she leveled one her Madame Tracy glares at him. They stared at one another for what felt like eons before he broke into the wide, unsettling grin.

“Well that was wonderful, Antonia, thank you,” he began putting his things away, “If I have any follow-up questions, I will be sure to send you an email,” he reached his hand out once more, which Crowley waved away with a smile.

“It’s Toni. And the pleasure was mine,” her tone held subtle notes of sarcasm, “I’ll check my inbox, then.”

He shot one last smarmy grin her way, “I’ll send you the link when it’s up.”

And with that, he was gone. Crowley let go of a breathe she hadn’t realized she was holding. For some reason, that interview had been much harder than the others. When she had been asked about the competition before she’d been able to say with ease that she was superior. She never questioned the art of a fellow tattoo artist before and she wasn’t going to start with Aziraphale.

But still, it had always been easy to openly talk about her competitors' flaws. With Aziraphale, it felt… different. And while Crowley had shared the truth, it was hardly scathing. Anyone who met Aziraphale would likely be surprised she had chosen this profession. She was kind and welcoming and warm. And yes it felt fake to Crowley, superficial and performative, but it felt wrong to admit that. The anger that was running low was slowly turning into shame.

She groaned, throwing her head into her hands. This wasn’t supposed to be hard. She had to regroup with herself. Reprioritize and go back to the drawing board to come up with a plan. She was supposed to be defending her shop’s ground, not feeling bad for being honest about her feelings about her rival shop’s owner.

* * *

Two weeks had passed since Crowley had spoken to Gabriel. She never received any follow-up questions and a sense of dread hung over her head. She hadn’t liked Gabriel and she worried about how he may misconstrue her and her opinions.

She and Bee sat in silence next to each other in the shop as Crowley got lost in her thoughts. She imagined outrage from clients over things that Gabriel wrote. She imagined gaining more clients from the drama it all caused. And sometimes she thought (more so worried) about the article (or blog post, whatever) hurting Aziraphale. Not in terms of her business, that was the plan regardless of the guilt that washed over Crowley whenever she thought of it. But emotionally.

She was lost in one of these thoughts when a hand snapped in front of her face, “Earth to Crowley,” Bee was glaring at her, “You’ve got someone asking for you.”

Crowley shook away the thoughts and looked towards the counter. A young-looking man with a curly mop of dark blonde hair stood staring. He raised his hand in greeting with a lopsided smile, “Miss Fell sent me over. Requestin’ your presence, or somethin’.”

“She what?” her brows knit together.

“Didn’t tell me what for. Did tell me not to leave ‘til you said you’d come. Even if it’s a little later,” the boy shrugged his shoulders.

The gears started turning in Crowley’s head, “You. You’re Adam?”

Confusion crossed his face, “Yeah. How’d you know that?”

“We talked about you before. Yeah, yeah I’ll head over,” she glanced to Bee, “I’ve no appointments today. Don’t expect this to be long or anything so I’ll be back for any walk-ins. Might stop and get lunch after anyway. Text me if you want anything, yeah?”

They grunted in return, going back to grumbling and prepping their station for the appointment they had coming up.

“Right then, Adam. Let’s go,” she shrugged into her jacket, popped on her sunglasses, and held the door for him to lead.

The walk was short and quiet, the way Crowley preferred it, but her anxiety began to rise. Why exactly did she want Crowley to come here? As they pushed through the door, Crowley was greeted by the sight of Aziraphale cleaning ink off a new tattoo. That gentle smile and heartfelt laugh filling the room with a distinct aura of comfort and warmth.

Crowley could feel her icy resolve melting at the sight of Aziraphale at work with a client.  _ How could I think this woman isn’t genuine? Look at her. _

Aziraphale was completely engaged with the woman in front of her, helping her direct the mirror in her hand so she could properly see the new piece on her lower back. She was responding to questions about the care patiently, giving helpful tips on how to deal with a back piece. And she wore that same gentle, kind gaze the entire time, never directing her attention elsewhere.

The woman began thanking Aziraphale profusely, tears in her eyes. Finally, Crowley’s mind began to process actual words coming out of mouths, “Oh dear it is an honor to do a piece like that,” she took the woman’s shoulders in her hands, “I’m sure your father would be so proud of you.”

Suddenly Aziraphale was fretting at her pockets, pulling out a handkerchief and wiping tears away from the woman's face, her gaze sympathetic. The woman apologized and thanked her again, excusing herself.

Only as the woman began walking towards Adam and Crowley did Aziraphale break her attention away from her client. Emotions flew across her face: first, surprise, then a brief spark of joy, then it settled on disgruntled.

“Thank you, Adam,” her warmth returned only when she addressed him and fell once again once she met eyes with Crowley, “I do believe we have matters to discuss, Toni,” one of her eyebrows raised as she beckoned for Crowley to follow her.

They made their way upstairs in tense silence, panic wracking in Crowley’s brain. Aziraphale opened the door to what appeared to be her workspace, pulling a chair out for Crowley in the crowded office and shutting the door behind her. She leaned against the desk right in front of Crowley, looming over her with that disappointed look.

The silence persisted a few moments longer until Crowley finally broke, the bewilderment finding its way into her tone, “What in the hell is going on?”

Aziraphale crossed her arms, “I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot,” she unwrapped her arms and reached for some papers beside her, handing them to Crowley.

Her brows furrowed as she skimmed over the papers, realization washed over her, “Jesus,” Gabriel’s post (article?) was not at all what he had told her it was going to be. The entire piece was a comparison of the two women’s shops. And, of course, Gabriel had hugely focused on Crowley’s opinion of Aziraphale’s personality. And then had extended it to her opinions of her art, which was completely inaccurate. Crowley had never said she viewed Aziraphale's art as disingenuine or wrong for this field.  _ Shit.  _ She heaved a sigh, “Aziraphale--”

Aziraphale brought her hands in front of her and locked eyes with Crowley, the softness returning to her gaze as it melded with heartbreak, “If this is the impression I gave you, Toni, truly I am sorry,” Crowley believed that, “but to extend that to my art?”

“I didn’t say what he said I did, I swear,” Crowley heard the plea in her own voice, “Yes I said you came off as fake but I would never say that your art was hollow or unfit for this kind of artistry.” Crowley pushed her glasses to the top of her head, matching Aziraphale’s gaze, urging for her to believe what she was saying.

Aziraphale broke the gaze, staring at the hands she had begun to wring slightly, “Forgive me if I don’t exactly believe you.”

Crowley scrubbed a hand over her face and ran it through her hair, “Listen, I know I’ve been a bit of a twat,” that caught Aziraphale’s attention, a small smile playing at the edges of her lips, “but I would never, and I mean never, disparage your art,” she tried to look as earnest as possible, “If anythin’ your art makes you more of a threat to me,” she let out a small disbelieving laugh, "You have skills with shading that I could work decades for and never match," The spark began to return to Aziraphale’s eyes, that spark that made that mass in Crowley’s stomach shoot something into her bloodstream. "We may have different styles but I would never think less of yours."

“I hoped,” her eyes bore into Crowley with that aching softness, “we could put this whole thing behind us.”

Eager as ever Crowley lit up, “Yeah, definitely.”

“I mean everything, Toni,” her tone became more serious, “This whole competition you’ve unilaterally, I might add, constructed.”

Crowley rubbed the back of her neck. This shop meant everything to her. Her reputation meant even more. There's nothing that Crowley wanted more than to be the most successful. The two sides of her brain waged war: do we fight or do we compromise. Before she had time to ruin things as she tended to, that small voice returned urging her to agree to the terms, “All right. Yeah. Everythin’,” she paused, "And it's Crowley, to you."

_ Damn it.  _ Crowley corralled the urge to stubbornly refuse giving up this fight, forcing her gaze to meet Aziraphale’s. She damn near lost her breath when she found it.

The joy that radiated off her was nearly palpable-- so much so she nearly seemed to glow. Her smile though small was delighted as she broke her gaze and flicked her eyes back coyly.

_ Bastard. _ She knew in that instant she’d do damn near anything to get that look back on Aziraphale's face.

“Well then, Crowley, as a celebration to this newfound friendship, if I may, might I tempt you to a spot of lunch?”

Crowley let herself huff a small laugh, “Sure thing, angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeehaw kiddos! i spent basically half of today mapping the rest of this out (along with the beginning of a new fic ab poetry bc i'm a fucking SAP), so i'm hoping that despite my depression trying to rule my life, i can finish this up by the end of april at the LATEST. i def want it done well before then and since we're halfway there, we should be good to go.
> 
> kudos are kind and comments still make me come undone (even when i forget to respond to them rip, i'm sorry)


	5. A Lunch Date

They were well on their way to some sushi place that Aziraphale was raving about when she stopped suddenly in her gushing.

“Why do you call me that, by the way?”

Crowley’s brow furrowed, “Call you what?”

“Angel,” there was a pause between them, “It’s just that you’ve said it a couple of times. I was curious is all,” her gaze landed back on Crowley, eyes ever shining with sincerity.

“Oh, um, ‘s just the shop name. Ink of Angels? You’re the angel, yeah?”

Crowley noticed a subtle shade of pink growing on Aziraphale’s cheeks as she smiled shyly, “It’s an angel’s name, you know?”

The confusion returned to Crowley, “Hm? What is?”

“Aziraphale,” she met Crowley’s gaze once again, “It’s the name of an angel. My mother always called me her little angel,” her voice was sad but still impossibly warm creating an ache in Crowley she wasn’t aware existed.

“I could call you something else if you’d li--”

Aziraphale turned sharply, grabbing Crowley’s arm, “No,” it was firm and urgent. Realizing herself, she let go of Crowley’s arm and mumbled an apology, “It’s been too long since someone’s called me that. It makes me-- it makes me happy,” she gave a surprisingly genuine tight-lipped smile. It was incredible to Crowley how much Aziraphale could express with her lips alone.

_ Makes you wonder what else they can do.  _

She was nipping that one in the bud. This was a professional agreement and a budding friendship. Nothing more and nothing less.

They’d filled the rest of their walk to the restaurant with small talk about business and recent work they’d completed (most notably for Aziraphale was an awfully large  _ Alice in Wonderland _ back piece). When they’d finally arrived, it seemed that Aziraphale was quite the regular with the chef coming out to greet her personally.

While they talked (and Crowley most definitely didn’t feel left out), Crowley sent a text to Bee asking them if they wanted anything around the area before she came back and scrolled quickly through Instagram. She saw far too many pictures of couples, a few dogs, and a delightful picture of Anathema doing a tarot reading. She really needed to introduce Anathema and Madame Tracy. They’d get along like two peas in a pod.

As though reading her mind and cutting through her train of thought, Aziraphale cleared her throat, “I meant to ask, how do you know Madame Tracy?”

Crowley thought back to his first encounter with Tracy. She’d been in a relationship of sorts with Micah who was pushing her endlessly to propose. They’d lived together for only a few months and been in what Micah declared a relationship for nearly six months. The pressure for Crowley was nearly unbearable. But somewhere in her, there was a great need to please her girlfriend.

She’d been thinking about that when she’d walked up to Madame Tracy’s shop. Relieved to see it wasn’t a tattoo parlor, she pushed through the doors taking in that peculiar scent for the first time.

Tracy had spun around immediately with that signature pink lipstick and brilliant smile, “Hiya dearie,” she gave Crowley a once over, “you look like a troublemaker,” she looked into her eyes a little harder, “hmmm and bothered too. Come upstairs with me, dear.”

And so Crowley had followed her up into what was now Aziraphale’s office and got her first reading from Tracy. It had been about her relationship with Micah crumbling due to pressure.

She returned to the present with a rueful smile, “Ah she’d just moved into where your shop is. Gave me a reading when we first met, nearly made me cry, then told me to come back every Sunday for Tea and Tarot. And I did. Broke my heart when she moved,” Crowley had suddenly grown quite wistful, longing to have Madame Tracy so close once again, “How about you?”

Aziraphale’s gaze shifted downward, that blush warming her cheeks a little darker this time, “Well I’ll warn you it’s a little strange,” she looked cautiously to Crowley who simply nodded her head, prompting her to speak, “You see I have a bit of a fascination with the occult. Or the divine. Anything remotely supernatural really. Specifically, books that are associated with those areas,” Crowley could feel a grin spreading across her face, “As a result, I often attend estate sales to try and get my hands on books of this nature. Tracy happened to be at one and we struck a conversation. She mentioned looking for a book that I already had so I took her back to my flat and lent it to her. We exchanged numbers and we’ve been looking for books and trading them back and forth since then.”

“Nothing wrong with the supernatural. ‘S pretty interesting, I’ll give you that. I’d noticed the whole book thing in your shop. You have those old books below your counter.”

“Oh yes, well, those are specific books. They’re all first editions of books that have been the inspiration for a tattoo.”

“First editions? Really? Aren’t those expensive?”

“It depends on the book really. But most were gifts. And, truthfully, it only started because a client of mine had been forced to spend all her money to move back to Brussels with her family just a couple days before the appointment.”

“You still tattooed her with no money?”

Aziraphale looked strangely offended, “Of course! It was important for her.”

Crowley rolled her eyes but motioned for Aziraphale to continue, “She’d gotten a tattoo from The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe. She and her twin sister would climb in bed together at night and stay up far too late reading. They reread the Chronicles of Narnia all throughout their youth. When they had both moved to London, her sister was diagnosed with cancer. She was gone within six months.”

“Shit,” Crowley’s face was etched with sympathy, “I can’t imagine that kind of pain.”

“And that’s precisely why I’d already told her the tattoo would be free considering her situation. But when we’d finished, she pulled out a first edition of the novel. Insisted she wanted me to have it. I refused, naturally, knowing the weight that the book held. It was practically a family heirloom at that point. She had agreed reluctantly but hid the damned thing in the shop. I found it the day after she’d moved back to Brussels, furiously emailed her, but when she responded, I knew I had to keep it.”

“Must have been pretty damn convincing, huh?” 

Aziraphale nodded, “She’d written about how losing her sister was like losing a part of her soul. They’d shared everything together. She gave a quote from the book and it’s stuck with me since, ‘If you've been up all night and cried till you have no more tears left in you - you will know that there comes in the end a sort of quietness. You feel as if nothing is ever going to happen again.’ I have the last part of her email practically memorized. She said that that book reminded her of that feeling, that sense that nothing would ever happen to her again. That leaving the book with me helped her move on.

“She’d said ‘I’d rather live with the memory of her than look at the book that makes me relive that loss.’ So I’ve kept the book. And then I found some more, got more as gifts. Madame Tracy even got me a first edition of Oscar Wilde’s  _ The Picture of Dorian Gray _ .”

“You’ve done a piece for Dorian Gray? What on Earth did they ask for?”

A wistful and mischievous smirk graced Aziraphale’s face and she hummed, “A rather ornate mirror. Certainly wasn’t the portrait depicted in the novel but it was inspired,” she looked at Crowley thoughtfully, “Do you read much, Crowley?”

Crowley scratched the back of her head nervously, “Ah used to. Not much anymore. No time to I guess,” looking to get attention off her, she glanced back at Aziraphale, “You talk to your clients that much? That they’re willing to tell you personal stuff?”

Their waiter returned as Crowley finished her question and Aziraphale picked a piece up, smiling before answering, “Of course, why wouldn’t I?”

She slipped the sushi into her mouth and hummed softly, eyes shutting gently with the corners of her mouth turning ever so slightly upward. To Crowley, it seemed its own kind of worship and she got lost staring as Aziraphale took another piece in her mouth. The same quiet hum of satisfaction ringing in Crowley’s ears. She’d become completely lost in watching this spectacle when she became aware of Aziraphale’s voice.

“I’m so sorry what was that?”

Aziraphale cocked her head to the side, brow knitting just a bit, “I asked if you were hungry, you haven’t taken even one and I’ve had three now.”

“Yeah, sorry, yeah,” she popped a piece in her mouth, finishing before opening her mouth again, “Tha’s pretty good.”

A satisfied smile swept across Aziraphale’s face, “On the topic of talking to clients, do you not? I always try to learn a little more about the person I’m tattooing.”

“Eh, never really give it much thought. And most times their chatter distracts me. So I simply tattoo them and leave it at that.”

“You don’t think chatting a bit with them would give you a better idea of what they want on their body?”

Crowley thought about that for a moment, “No, not particularly. I mean they tell me in the sketching process whether they want to tweak something. Most of my clients seem to trust my decisions.”

That sly smile found its way onto Aziraphale’s face as she gave a short hum, a borderline laugh. She seemed to ponder something as she diverted her attention back to the sushi at hand. A gentle silence hung between them-- the first time Crowley had ever felt entirely comfortable in silence. Aziraphale broke the silence after finishing off one of the trays in front of her, “I do hope I didn’t offend you.”

Crowley threw her a confused look, “Not sure how you would’ve, angel.”

That warmth spread across her face at the drop of the pet name, “I didn’t mean to question your talent as an artist or your clients' trust in you. I wanted to be clear that I was trying to understand you on a more professional level,” she began working the corner of the napkin she placed in front of her.

Unthinkingly, Crowley moved to cover Aziraphale’s hand with her own, “Not to worry. Didn’t think that at all,” she gave a gentle squeeze not unlike the one’s Aziraphale had given her in the past, bringing that coy look from her office back out.

Crowley could feel her heart stutter, pulling her hand away for fear of Aziraphale catching on. She couldn’t do this. Not with a professional relationship. To distract herself, she glanced at her phone to see a reply from Bee. Nothing in the area seemed remotely interesting to them but they did request a coffee. Their favorite shop was just across the street from the shop, so it wouldn’t be an issue.

Aziraphale’s gentle clearing of her throat brought Crowley’s attention back to the woman before her, “Should I get the bill, then?”

“Sorry, yeah, if you could. Bee’s asking for some coffee. They get quite snappy without it. We can split the bill if you’d like?” That earned her a snort from Aziraphale.

“Absolutely not. I’ll pay this time. For your troubles,” she shot Crowley a playful smirk before finding the waiter's eyes.

After paying their tab, the pair walked idly back towards their shops, chatting about their preferences within their field. Crowley wasn’t shocked to learn Aziraphale’s specialty was shading, nor did she seem surprised that line-work is what made Crowley stand out. It was a shock, however, to learn that Aziraphale wasn’t exactly partial to doing literature themed tattoos. Only that she had found a sort of niche that she couldn’t seem to get out of.

As they approached Aziraphale’s shop, she seemed to get a little antsy, wringing her hands before her, “Well this was lovely.”

“Yeah, sure,” Crowley rubbed the back of her neck nervously, “Uh, if you’d like,” hopeful eyes found Crowley’s own gaze, making that mass of feeling in her stomach to clench, “I could give you my number? So you can text or call if you need anything? Rather than sending Adam.”

Aziraphale’s hands stilled and a shy smile broke through her tense features, “That sounds perfectly acceptable to me.” She grabbed her phone from her coat pocket and handed it over. Crowley felt giddy for the first time in ages.

“Right. I’ll be hearing from you soon then, yeah?”

“Of course, dear,” the warmth in Aziraphale’s tone made Crowley blush. She ducked her head and parted ways with a small wave. She’d been so absorbed with thoughts of Aziraphale she nearly forgot to grab Bee’s coffee.

She groaned, “Oh I am fucked.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahh i am so sorry about the wait on this one! i got surprisingly busy?? even though i literally cannot leave the house. anyway, very excited for the next chapter :-) your comments have given me so much joy and the kudos make my heart clench like i've just seen my love for the first time xoxo


	6. A Reaction

Crowley’s phone pinged next to her as she was finishing up a rendition of a dragon she would be tattooing later in the week. She could feel a smile creep onto her face as she looked at the screen and saw “Angel” next to the message icon. She finished up the last of her shading on the piece and scooped up her phone.

Aziraphale had sent a sketch of an old wooden ship with the questions “Lines? Lunch today?”

Crowley smirked-- for all of her verbose exchanges with Aziraphale, their texts read far different. She examined the image attached a little closer, drawing her attention to a few places that could use more definition and sent back her feedback.

Shortly after Aziraphale responded again, “Lunch????”

Crowley barked a laugh out at that one and put her jacket on, opting to walk over to the shop rather than text her back. She shouted her usual goodbyes, promised to pick up lunch for Bee and Hastur should they want any, and made her way over to Ink of Angels.

The pair had fallen into a routine of sorts over the course of a few weeks. Every Monday, when Aziraphale’s shop was closed, they would go get lunch together between Crowley’s appointments. Or, on days like today, when Crowley found a minute to break away from her sketches and hadn’t been interrupted by a walk-in, she would walk over to the shop, which Aziraphale left unlocked specifically for Crowley.

It was strange, Crowley often thought, how much had changed from their first interaction. From the care and attention that Crowley put into her feedback for Aziraphale (and vice versa) to their regular chats through text. They’d become fast friends and Crowley often found herself trying to not distance herself from Aziraphale. As much as she appreciated having someone there to support her, the lingering pit in her stomach that held something more made her skittish-- fearing she may ask too much of Aziraphale.

She pushed through the door, calling out as she entered, “Angel! ‘S lunchtime!”

The tell-tale sounds of Aziraphale scuffling down from her office made Crowley smile with a fondness she didn’t want to acknowledge.  _ How nice it is _ , the little voice in her head whispered to her,  _ to know someone like this _ .

Crowley swept the thought away, taking in the sight of Aziraphale rushing down the stairs, wrapped in her cardigan, glasses in hand to put on the counter, “You never responded, dear. Had me nervous you were going to cancel on me,” Aziraphale made an almost pouty face, looking almost like a petulant child.

“Like I’d ever cancel our lunch dates,” Crowley caught the word slipping out of her mouth a moment too late.

Despite her mortification, she was gifted with one of the coy glances from Aziraphale she cherished so much, heart rate increasing just a touch.

With an ever so faint blush on her cheeks, Aziraphale shot Crowley a glance that devastated her every time, “Well, onto our little date then, hm?” She pushed the door open for Crowley and extended her arm out so that they could link arms as they walked. Talking her arm in her own, Crowley buried her chin to her chest, a violent flush coming across her face.

Oblivious as ever, Aziraphale chattered on about her day, the nautical sketches she was working on, and how she couldn’t wait to be finished so she could move onto shading. Crowley made the appropriate interjections to show she was paying attention but the whole world could have crumbled as all of her focus went to the way their arms were slotted together.

The spell was broken as Aziraphale slipped her arm out to hold open the door to a small bakery, a warm, fond smile on her face, “After you, my dear.”

It took all of her brainpower to force her feet to move and she could feel her blush return with a vengeance. She found them a table, trusting that Aziraphale would know what to order for her. Over the weeks, she’d learned that Aziraphale’s taste was near impeccable and she almost always selected something Crowley liked.

Crowley kept her hands busy by mindlessly scrolling through social media as she was immersed in yet another one of her domestic daydreams of her and Aziraphale.

“May I be honest with you, Crowley?” Aziraphale’s voice startled Crowley so much she nearly dropped her phone, she gave Aziraphale a hum of assent, “I was terrified when we first met.”

“‘M sorry, what?” Crowley’s eyebrows shot up her forehead.

“That day you came in for your fake consultation. I was absolutely terrified to meet you,” she paused, waiting for Crowley to give her some signal to continue on, to which Crowley made some sort of hand motion, “I already knew who you were, of course. You may not realize it but you are the topic of many conversations among artists.”

Crowley’s mouth fell open, “Really?”

“Yes, dear,” Aziraphale laughed gently, “Not only for your skill but for your ruthlessness,” she shot Crowley a look, “I’m really quite shocked that you didn’t notice,” she pushed Crowley a cup of coffee as she sipped from her own cup of tea, “In fact, I’m quite shocked at how little you do notice about my emotions.”

“I never would have guessed. ‘N what’s that supposed to mean,” Crowley drank from her own cup as well.

Aziraphale donned one of her more smug smirks, “Well, it’s just that I’ve either gotten especially good at hiding my feelings or you're just dense as a rock.”

Crowley nearly spit out her coffee, “Oi, tha’s not fair. I’d hope it’s the former.”

“It seems more the latter to me, my dear,” she became sincere once more, “But yes, I was quite terrified. I’ve never felt like I belonged in this industry but you,” Crowley felt like Aziraphale was looking into the depths of her soul, “you seem to fit so perfectly. You’re talented and determined and--”

“I’m stopping you right there, angel,” Crowley reached to cover her hands worrying at a napkin, “That’s a load of shite.”

“You can’t brush off my compliments like that.”

“‘M not, really. It’s all that other nonsense,” she tilted Aziraphale’s chin so their eyes met, “You’re a hell of an artist. So good that I want your feedback on pieces. So don’t believe that for a minute.”

Aziraphale looked skeptical but smiled nonetheless, “Thank you, Crowley. Speaking of advice, can you look at more of those nautical pieces? I didn’t want to send all of the pieces to you.”

“Course, angel!” she smiled and took the phone Aziraphale offered.

After some notes and plenty of compliments, Crowley handed the phone back, “What’s all that for anyway?”

“I have a client at the end of the week who’s adding onto an existing piece. She described it as an octopus of sorts. She wanted to make the piece more cohesive and add some  _ Moby Dick _ elements as well. This is actually the first time I’m not doing a full consultation prior to working on the client. She wanted to do everything electronically,” Crowley hummed in response.

The nautical theme reminded Crowley of the first piece she’d done with Anathema-- a massive Kraken taking up the middle of her back. She’d never gotten it filled in though they discussed it often. Crowley made a mental note to finish the shading on the sketch and show it to Aziraphale so she would be prepared when Anathema decided to come back.

“I’d actually like your opinion on some shading later,” Crowley informed her, “I need to finish it but the color scheme is what I’m worried about.”

Aziraphale lit up, “I’d be happy to!”

After finishing their lunch and making it back to Aziraphale’s shop (arm in arm, again, making it rather difficult for Crowley to think), Crowley leaned against the doorframe watching as Aziraphale tidied up the front of the shop, “I’ll send you those texts then, yeah?”

“Anything for you, my dear,” she smiled at her.

Crowley hung there a few moments more, not wanting to leave just yet, “Y’know I find it funny that you’re so eloquent in-person yet so short over text.”

“Is that so,” Aziraphale made her way in front of Crowley, “I don’t find it necessary to prattle on when I’m texting. It leads to fewer miscommunications that way.”

“Is that right?”

“I’ve found so, yes.”

The pair stared at each other for a moment, a tense air between them. Crowley broke it, “Shame. I think I’d quite like to have extensive conversations with you on the phone.”

“Well dear,” Aziraphale moved to put her hand on Crowley’s arm, making their distance between them rather small, “then you need only call me,” she squeezed gently and let go, “Perhaps tonight, if you’re free,” she shot a glance over her shoulder as she retreated to her office.

“Yeah, yeah, sure thing, angel. Tonight,” Crowley was blushing deeply, “Later then,” and she left, thoughts of Aziraphale clouding her head as she forgot to get Bee’s coffee.

She returned to her office and grabbed the sketch of the Kraken, coloring shades of purple and orange on the corners. She snapped a picture of the two color schemes and the edges of the tentacles and sent it over to Aziraphale with the line “Thoughts?”

She heard Bee call after her about her coffee and swore, “Forgot it, I’ll go grab it right now.”

When she checked her phone, she saw a message from Aziraphale, “Orange. Talk to you tonight”

* * *

It was yet another dreary Monday and Crowley was decidedly not working but instead counting down the minutes until lunch. Ever since their near-nightly phone calls started, Crowley had become completely preoccupied. There was no denying it now-- Crowley had it bad.

She would often find that in her sketches of women, she drew startling blue eyes against blond hair. Her work drew away from it’s normal dark shades to light browns and blues, sprinkles of yellow and pastels working their way in.

There was no sense in trying to ignore it, but Crowley had little of that. So she pushed it down and tried to avoid those thoughts, normally by scrolling through social media. It was mind-numbing and absolutely blissful.

With thirty minutes until their normal meeting time, Crowley began to scroll through Instagram seeing far too many couples and not enough kittens. Until she stumbled upon Anathema’s latest post.

Crowley looked at it, trying to process what she was looking at. She recognized, of course, the Kraken she’d done the line-work for on her back. What she did not recognize, however, was the extensive shading and added nautical elements around the Kraken.

She studied the picture a little more, picking out a few details that felt oddly familiar; the anger she carefully kept at bay began rearing its ugly head. It was unprofessional and, frankly, rude to add to another artist’s work-- a fairly well known fact among artists.

Scrolling to find the culprit, Crowley’s eyes could hardly process the caption: “A huge thank you to Aziraphale at Ink of Angels…” Something in Crowley broke. The well of anger she’d built bursting at the hint of betrayal.

The problem with Crowley’s anger is that she struggled to let it out in any way that was healthy. Rather than sitting and thinking on things, she reacted immediately. The warning bells in her brain started going off as she stormed out of the shop without her jacket. She seemed to enter a completely different state of mind, completely walled up in her own anger.

The tiny voice inside her head was begging her to think this through as she made her way to Aziraphale’s shop-- tried its best to scream that there was a better way to handle this. But the anger was much louder.

At the tinkling of the shop bell, Aziraphale looked up from the book she was reading at the counter, her familiar warm smile lighting up the room, “Oh Crowley, what a surp-”

“How DARE you, Aziraphale,” Crowley’s voice boomed in the shop, startling her.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I was right about you all along, huh? So what’s all this been between us? A lie?”

Her face was wrought with confusion, “Crowley, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Crowley opened up to the image of Anathema’s tattoo, barely containing the rage and hurt in her voice, “Look familiar?”

Aziraphale adjusted her glasses looking at the image, “Oh yes, that’s Anathema. Lovely girl. A bit ecc-”

“That was my client, Aziraphale,” she met Crowley’s icy glare, “that was my work you added onto,” surprise washed over Aziraphale’s features.

“Crowley I had no id-”

“No idea? No idea, really, Aziraphale? I sent you a PICTURE of the damn thing,” Crowley could see the spark of confusion turn into realization as Aziraphale seemed to flounder, trying to think of something to say, “I cannot believe I actually trusted you,” Aziraphale’s face contorted into something similar to a wounded animal, “I let you in. Shared my professional opinions with you and you do this?”

Aziraphale began to stammer.

“Maybe Gabriel was right, huh?” that seemed to hit her hard, “Maybe your art is hollow. Just as fake as you are, evidently,” deep down, that voice screamed to stop, that she was going too far, but the anger couldn’t be stopped, “This whole sweet and kind act really just lets you put the knife in a little deeper, huh?”

Her voice grew taut, “Crowley, you have to believe me! I-”

“Believe you,” Crowley barked a harsh laugh, “After this? I basically helped you create this fucking piece with no credit! And to think you wanted my advice because you respected me,” she scoffed, “How fucking rich, huh? Just a fucking imposter. Maybe you’ve really no place in this field. Just a fucking scam of an artist.”

With that, Aziraphale hung her head, not looking Crowley in the face, “Can I speak, please?”

Crowley got quiet, her voice hoarse as she let the hurt seep in, “Why the hell should I listen to what you have to say? You betrayed me when I thought we were friends.”

Aziraphale choked out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob, “Friends? You make it sound like I don’t even like you,” her voice sounded tight, quiet, restrained. As though she were lying through her teeth.

That rage flared up in her again mixing with that small voice begging her not to fuck up this good thing, “You do!”

Aziraphale finally met her gaze, eyes filled with tears, heartbreak clear across her face. For the first time since barging in, Crowley faltered, “You’re right, Crowley. I do,” suddenly Crowley felt regret wash over her, “Which is what makes this hurt so much.”

Crowley’s voice softened, “Angel-”

“Don’t,” tears began to fall down her face, “Get out.”

Crowley took a step forward, “Listen-”

“I said get out,” her voice was stern, completely betraying the crushed look she wore, “please,” she whispered.

Crowley nodded, leaving her mess behind. When she got back to her own shop, she nodded to Bee, went to her studio, and began to sob, guilt and shame washing over her in waves as she cried. A hollow feeling beginning to creep its way into her heart.

_ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uh oh, my dudes! how are we gonna get ourselves out of this one? also, i am upping the chapter count to 9 but the story as a whole will be finished at 8! your comments make me so so happy and every kudo i get keeps me going you lovely humans


	7. An Attempt

So Crowley had fucked up. She fucked up really, really bad. She’d cried and hated herself for being such a reactive little shit. And she’d cried and felt nothing but guilt because she wasn’t the one who should be hurting.

This cycle repeated itself for two weeks. Hatred towards herself switching to guilt at feeling bad for herself. She texted Aziraphale dozens of times apologizing, begging to be able to sit down for a conversation. She received no responses.

After two weeks of this, Bee finally intervened.

“Listen, Miss Broody,” they shot her a rather compassionate glare, oxymoronic as ever, “you wanna talk to her so bad? Her shop is up the road. Quit acting like a sullen brat and go apologize to her face.”

She groaned at the thought. Crowley, when not angry, despised confrontation. She was also terrified of rejection. A terrible combination when you were going to go apologize for blowing up at one of the closest friends you had.

But Bee wasn’t taking no for an answer and used their unnatural strength to pull Crowley up off the table, put her jacket on, and begin pushing her out of the door, “I don’t want you back in here until you go to that shop, Crowley. Is that understood?”

“Aren’t I the one in charge of you,” Crowley retorted.

“Not when you’re acting like a five-year-old. Now off you go.”

She stood there for a moment, hesitating. It was a Wednesday, so Aziraphale’s shop was open which meant that she could have a client. However, it was almost evening and Aziraphale took fewer clients on Wednesday evenings to account for her meetings with Madame Tracy.

“I said off with you, Crowley. And give me your keys.”

“What for,” she narrowed her eyes, suspicious of Bee’s intent.

Bee rolled their eyes, “You have no trust in me, ridiculous. So you don’t drive off and act like you’ve talked to her when you haven’t, idiot.” Crowley sighed with defeat handing over her keys, “Thanks, now I can lock you out.”

“You what?” but before Crowley could stop them, Bee already slammed the door and she could hear the lock turning. She groaned, kicking at the pavement, “Fuck!”

She started to drag herself towards Aziraphale’s shop with great reluctance-- her head racing with thoughts of what to even say. All too soon, she found herself standing outside the storefront once more.

She looked over the sign above the shop once again, tears beginning to fill in her eyes. Looking over the storefront once more, the overwhelming feelings of regret washed over her much harder. If not for Aziraphale, she never would have given up that cruel streak that ran through her professional life. She wouldn’t have ever found herself  _ wanting _ to apologize for her behavior. Aziraphale’s presence in her life allowed her to change for the better and she had fucked it all up with one meltdown. 

Brushing the tears away, she pulled the door open only to be greeted by Adam and a wall of teens roughly Adam’s age.

“Oh, hi there. ‘S Aziraphale in?”

The only girl among the four sized her up and cocked her head, “Not for you.”

Crowley raised her eyebrow, “Is that right? And you are?”

“Pepper,” she put her hands on her hips, blocking more of Crowley’s path.

Crowley hummed, “And the rest of you?”

“This is Brian,” Adam pointed to the sloppy looking young man beside him, “and you can call him Wensleydale,” he gestured to the shy looking kid at the end. Crowley made a gesture similar to a wave in greeting.

“So is she not in for anyone or is it just me?”

Pepper spoke up again, “Just not for you, unfortunately.”

“Who’s that according to, hmm?”

“Miss Fell herself,” Adam fixed her with a rather hard glare.

Crowley heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Please, I just need to have a word with her.”

Pepper stepped forward, eye-level with Crowley’s chin yet looming over her in spirit, “‘Fraid that’s not gonna happen. Girls gotta stick together. And she’s not ready to see you.”

“Pepper,” Crowley could feel tears beginning to well up as she lowered her voice, “please.”

She could see Pepper waver in front of her for a moment until Wensleydale piped up, “If you feel so bad, you should have thought about what you were doing before you hurt Miss Fell.”

Crowley looked up, blinking in hopes that the tears wouldn’t fall in front of these poor kids, “Look,” her voice was taut, “I know I’ve made a massive mistake. I just want to fix it. That’s all.”

They all looked to Adam, who hadn’t taken his eyes off Crowley. He huffed a small breath, “I’d really like to help you Miss Crowley-- I know you care about her and all that-- but she’s just not ready. And we promised we wouldn’t let you up there,” Crowley let a couple tears fall, wiping them hurriedly, “Now you didn’t hear this from me, but she has an appointment with Madame Tracy next week. Exactly this time next week,” he looked pointedly at Crowley.

“All right. Thank you,” Crowley continued brushing at her tears, fighting a smile.

“Now get out of here before we have to act like we’re really angry,” Adam gave her a lopsided grin and she waved goodbye, heading back to the shop.

After some rather violent banging on her shop door, Bee cracked the door, “You talk to her? You seem excited so I’m assuming you’ve done something.”

“Not exactly. I-- well her apprentice and his friends wouldn’t let me but,” she reached between the door and the frame, “he said that she has an appointment to see a mutual friend next week. I have a time and everythin’.”

Bee looked at her skeptically through the crack, “Promise?”

“Yeah, promise. Let me in please?”

After a moment, Bee pushed the door open, letting her in, “You talk to her next week or I’m firing you.”

“This is my shop, Bee. You can’t do that.”

“I can and I will.”

* * *

Crowley practiced what she would say upon seeing Aziraphale all week, staring in her bathroom mirror, the mirrors in the shop, windows with enough reflection constantly muttering what she would say. As the day got closer and closer, she began to pace. All of her nervous energy building up to this tiny moment in her life that could change the course of it forever.

No big deal.

She arrived at Madame Tracy’s two hours early, urged by Bee who was growing quite impatient with the nervous wreck they were forced to call their boss. Tired of staring into her rearview to fix her hair for the thousandth time, Crowley made her way to the shop to get her own reading.

Upon the tinkling of the bell, Tracy looked up and smiled almost knowingly, “I’ve been waiting for you dearie,” she moved to kiss Crowley’s cheeks, “Here for a reading, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Crowley scratched her the back of her neck, looking down.

“Come now, Crowley, let’s get you some tea and tarot, hm? Like the old days,” she wrapped her arm around Crowley’s shoulders and brought her to the backroom.

She left Crowley to her own devices as she went to go make tea. The room felt heavy around her, her memory going back to the last time she was here, surprised by Aziraphale’s warm presence. Now, it felt like something was missing, the emptiness of that something weighing heavily on Crowley.

Crowley closed her eyes and took a deep breath, her memory conjuring up Aziraphale’s playful laughs and smirks from that night. When she opened her eyes, the room seemed less bright, as if Aziraphale’s absence had a physical impact on the surrounding area. She took a seat at the table and scrubbed at her face, sighing deeply.

“I know that sigh,” Tracy came in with tea, setting the tray beside them, and pouring a cup for Crowley, “I’ve got the cards already. You know what you want to focus on?”

Crowley tried to figure out how to put it into words, “Well it’s a conflict, of sorts. With a friend. A good friend.”

“Hmm, you know I never ask for names, but would you like to tell me who?”

“Not tonight, Tracy,” she shot her a pleading look.

Madame Tracy nodded, “Well, if I may, it seems that this is far more than just a good friend if they’ve got you like this.”

Crowley laughed softly, “Yeah, sure. Just shuffle your cards.”

“Think about them.”

She hardly needed the excuse to think of Aziraphale-- of her bright blue eyes and that ridiculously blonde hair. The way her entire smile lights up a room and how her laugh could warm even the coldest of hearts. How her brow furrowed when she was confused by something or how those same brows arched when she knew all too much. The look in her eyes when she got what she wanted from Crowley- a sweet coquettish thing with just a hint of satisfaction and an even smaller dash of hunger for  _ something _ . The way her voice wrapped around Crowley’s name making it seem more like a prayer than anything else. How she longed to get the opportunity to keep that in her life. How desperately she needed a second chance.

“You ready, dearie?”

Crowley opened her eyes, not realizing she’d closed them, and hummed “Go on.”

“Right, so, five-card spread, two past, two present, one future,” she finished shuffling and laid the five out between them, “First past influence, Ten of Swords. Uh-oh, dear. Have you been betrayed or were you the betrayer?”

“Bit of both, I’m afraid.”

“Isn’t that how it always is? Well you know then that there’s been a loss of something or someone, I’m assuming. You felt like you were stabbed in the back and you were quite the drama queen about it I’m sure,” she nudged Crowley gently, trying to get her to warm up.

“You know me too well, Tracy,” she gave her a small smile.

“The good news is that the betrayal is in your past. It won’t resurface now that it’s been put away,” she pulled the next card, “Mmm, King of Wands reversed. Interesting that this is coming out in a relationship reading like this. It’s typically associated with work situations. Setting unrealistic goals, being impulsive and hasty in your interactions with your professional peers,” she stared a moment at the card before a realization dawned on her, “Oh. Well, that would make sense then, wouldn’t it, Tracy. Dearie, I’m not going to out and say it but, I have a feeling I know who this is.”

Crowley closed her eyes, “Please leave her name out of it.”

“Course, dear. So you made some impulsive decisions related to this betrayal, yeah? Well, that’s all in the past now. It’s over and you can’t change it but you can set it right in the present,” she turned the third card, “Five of Cups, good. You’re wallowing. This card wants you to stop that. As I just said, the past is the past. You cannot change that and there is no sense dwelling in it. Forgive yourself and the other person involved. Make it better, move on. You cannot make a home in your sadness, dearie.

“Next one, the Tower reversed. That I like to see. You remember this came up in your last reading?” Crowley nodded, “Means you’re learning what you need to learn. And this card particularly means you’re really learning and changing. You’re taking lessons to heart and growing instead of reliving that horror. Be wary of clinging to things that will stop you from changing.”

She picked up the last card, “Are you ready for the future?”

“Ready as ever, I s’pose.”

She revealed the Queen of Cups, “Now that is familiar,” she reached for Crowley’s hand squeezing, “Same figure as before is bound to be in your future. She’ll come ‘round, dearie. Give her some time.”

“I hope you’re right, Tracy. I do.”

They chatted a bit more about their lives, both avoiding Aziraphale until Crowley checked her watch. It was nearly Aziraphale’s appointment time.

“Shit, I’ve really gotta go Tracy.”

Tracy quirked an eyebrow up, “Got plans or avoiding someone?”

“Think you already know the answer to that one. I’ll be ‘round sooner next time, promise,” she pressed a quick kiss on Tracy’s cheeks and moved quickly out of the shop, running directly into Aziraphale walking into the shop.

The pair stared at one another a moment, surprise on their faces.

Crowley broke the silence first, “Aziraphale--”

Her face grew cold, drawing up into herself, “Antonia.”

Crowley winced, “I know you’re still upset with me--”

“Is that so?” Aziraphale’s tone was icy.

“Well, I assume so-- Or, rather, that’s what I’ve been told. And well what I can tell from your lack of response to my texts.”

Aziraphale crossed her arms, “Quite.”

All of the speeches Crowley had prepared went through the window, “Angel,” a crack in Aziraphale’s stoic expression, “I just wanna hear your side.”

“Is that right?” Aziraphale scoffed, “All this time and you want to hear my side? Amazing. Truly,” her tone was biting, a far cry from the warm and welcoming woman Crowley held so dear.

“Yes, Aziraphale. I want to hear your side. Because I fucked up. I didn’t use my head for two seconds and I ruined everything,” Aziraphale’s hard gaze began to soften, “And, honestly, I don’t care about the work now. It was one piece and it was beautiful and, sure, I helped but it was you who made it beautiful,” Crowley paused staring into her eyes for a brief moment, “I want to know how I made you feel with that tirade so I never do it again. I want to know how to fix whatever happened so I can make this better and I can apologize properly and make myself better for you,” there was a brief pause, as though Aziraphale was trying to determine whether she was being honest, “I know, I was a bit of a cunt--” 

With that, the hard exterior broke almost completely, “Now Crowley that’s hardly appropriate,” she moved to cover her mouth, face growing hard again, “I can’t do this right now, Crowley.”

Crowley gave her pleading eyes, begging her to listen.

“Move, Antonia. I’ve got an appointment,” the glare returned with less of an edge, so Crowley relented, still feeling the stab of her name being used.

As she made her way to the back, Crowley couldn’t help but call out, “I’ve never apologized for this kinda stuff,” Aziraphale turned back towards her, “My anger, I mean. I normally just patch it up with things. Gifts, sweet talk. But I’m sorry for this, Angel. Really,” Crowley looked to the ground, not able to handle seeing the reaction to that confession, “See you ‘round, then.”

She made her way back to her car, banging her head on the steering wheel. She grabbed her phone, stupid enough to immediately text Aziraphale.

“Give it some thought, Angel. Please.”

* * *

Crowley stared at her phone as she sat by herself in the shop. After not receiving a response from Aziraphale after nearly a week, Crowley had taken to re-reading their old texts because she was, at heart, a true masochist. She laid on her table, replaying memories in her head and feeling truly terrible.

If there was ever a good thing in her life, Crowley sure did know how to ruin it completely. If anyone was going to come in, which was rare on a weekday at the end of fall, they would simply have to deal with a moping Crowley.

As if on cue, the universe sent one of its very own to jingle the shop door, causing Crowley to drag herself up, “Welcome in,” she looked toward the door.

_ Oh. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so who walked in? knock, knock, who's there? 
> 
> i'm so happy to hear that so many people are enjoying this lil story. i'm excited to see it through to a proper resolution and i hope y'all are too! your comments are so very kind and every kudo is so dear to me.
> 
> if you wanna know the vibes i wanted in this chapter, i played paramore's after laughter on repeat (tell me how is a sad girl banger all right?)


	8. My Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi there! this is a really fast update with a brief warning for this chapter: there's some chat about emotionally abusive relationships! it's nothing super in-depth, just a quick little discussion about being made to feel shitty and getting out of that. it's not super vital for plot so if you need to skip it, feel free to.
> 
> CW: abuse mention

“Do you have time for a walk-in, my dear?” Aziraphale smiled in the door frame, the faint evening glow surrounding her, painting her out to look like a true angel.

“Ngk-- For a tattoo?”

Aziraphale let out a soft laugh, “No I thought I’d pop in for a trim,” she stared at Crowley a moment, “Yes for a tattoo, you glorious idiot.”

Crowley forced her legs to carry her to Aziraphale, “Oi, that’s not nice.”

“Well,” her gentle eyes bore directly into Crowley’s soul, “we both haven’t been so nice to one another lately, hm?”

“S’pose not,” Crowley crossed her arms, turning her stare to the ground as guilt washed over her.

“But we can talk that over once you’ve done my tattoo, if you’d be amenable,” she stepped forward and tilted Crowley’s head up, warm smile and dazzling eyes filling Crowley with relief.

“‘Course, Angel. It’s an honor to tattoo virgin skin,” Aziraphale rolled her eyes, a playful smirk and knowing gaze, “What are you thinking about doing?”

“I’m thinking feathers. Angel feathers.”

Crowley let out a warm laugh, joy filling her entire body, “Real fitting for you, Angel, have any references?”

“Who do you take me for, Crowley?” she leveled her with a look of disbelief, “Of course, I brought a photograph.”

The lightness and playfulness of the interaction made relief wash into every part of Crowley’s soul. While she knew she wasn’t out of Aziraphale’s bad graces totally, this was certainly a start.

“And where were you thinking?”

That knowing smile returned to Aziraphale’s face as she let out an almost inaudible laugh, “Forearms, same design on both.”

She took the photo from Aziraphale and motioned for her to follow her to her drafting desk, “D’you want color?”

A faint blush tinted Aziraphale’s cheeks, “Dark to light blue to white, I know it seems to0 fitting.”

Crowley’s brows drew together, “It sounds like you’re apologizing for it. They’re _your_ colors, Angel. They suit you and,” Crowley paused, “theylookquiteniceonyou.”

As the silence extended between them, Crowley noticed Aziraphale’s blush get deeper. There was quite a long silence while Crowley began stenciling the feather, broken suddenly by what seemed like a need bursting out of Aziraphale, “It was my mother’s favorite color,” Crowley looked to her, urging her to continue with her eyes. A task, she realized was impossible with her glasses on, so she pushed them up and tried again, “Blue. All shades of it. It was my mother’s favorite color,” Aziraphale’s gaze kept flitting about, unsure of where to look.

Crowley paused her drawing to grab Aziraphale’s hand and squeeze it gently, grabbing her attention then letting go, returning to her stencil, “Was?”

She heard a deep inhale from Aziraphale, “She passed last year.”

Crowley looked at her once more, “Oh, Angel. I’m so sorry-- I know that’s not gonna change anything but--”

“It’s quite all right,” Aziraphale cut her off gently, “She got sick. Very sick. Sad as it was, it was better for her to die than to continue suffering.”

“Still. You’re too young to lose a parent,” Crowley showed the sketch to Aziraphale who nodded her approval, “Early thirties seem still too young.”

Crowley guided Aziraphale to the table and set about prepping her station, “You know she never really wanted me to be a tattoo artist but she was so supportive when I committed to it.”

“Why’s that?” Aziraphale cocked her head at the question, “I mean why didn’t she want you to tattoo?”

Aziraphale let out a bark of a laugh, “Didn’t want her daughter ending up with tattoos,” Crowley smiled at the irony, “And she was worried about me being a woman in the field,” Crowley left a pause for Aziraphale to continue, “She’d fought so hard to become department head when she was a professor. She knew what happened when you worked in a male-dominated field.”

“Ah, an academic. What subject?”

“Theology,” Aziraphale’s gaze caught Crowley’s and they both smiled.

Crowley sat on her stool and prepped Aziraphale’s arms, cleaning and shaving the areas, she filled her needle with ink and looked nervously to Aziraphale, “You ready?”

“I believe so,” she wore a smirk that seemed to hide something from Crowley.

“If it hurts, let me know. We can stop.”

Aziraphale rolled her eyes, “I can handle it, Crowley.”

Crowley swallowed and pressed the needle to Aziraphale’s skin, hardly bothering Aziraphale. She quickly glanced up after the first line and found Aziraphale entranced with Crowley working.

She pressed down yet again and found herself speaking up herself, “My parents weren’t too thrilled about me becoming a tattoo artist either.”

Aziraphale hummed, “Different reason than my mother?”

“Yeah they wanted me to do something a bit more practical, I s’pose. They’d both been in business. That was how they met.”

Crowley could hear the satisfaction in Aziraphale’s voice, “Is that right?”

“Mhm. My mum was a secretary for some high-up executive at one company and my father was a financial analyst for the rival company. They met through some mutual friends. Real star-crossed lovers-esque,” Crowley wiped at the tattoo, determining her next line, “You sound pleased about something,” she looked up at Aziraphale.

She looked devastatingly fond, the picture of contentment, “I like hearing about you. You don’t normally talk about yourself too much and I talk about myself far too much. Tell me more, please.”

Crowley quickly looked back to the tattoo, a blush painting it’s way up to her ears, “Well, um, they kept their relationship a secret for quite a while. Afraid that they’d be accused of trading work-related secrets. But eventually, they realized no one would really know who the other was or where they worked. So they navigated it pretty smoothly.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully, adamantly remaining silent to encourage Crowley to fill the silence.

“My mum continued to work there until my father was promoted high enough at his own company. Some VP of Finance. Then they started to try and have a kid.”

“And ended up with you, I presume?”

Crowley sighed, lifting up the needle for a moment, “Not exactly.”

Brows furrowed, Aziraphale cocked her head slightly, “Not exactly?”

She brought her eyes back to the outline on Aziraphale’s line, taking up the needle once again, and swallowing hard, “Turned out my mother couldn’t get pregnant. Genetic thing, I guess. So they set out to adopt instead.”

Crowley heard the soft “oh” come out of Aziraphale’s mouth, “You never told me you were adopted.”

She shrugged, “Never came up. ‘Sides, they’ve always been my parents. Not like it changes much of anything.”

“Yes, but,” there was a hint of childish indignation in her voice, “that doesn’t mean I don’t want to know that about you. I want to know everything about you, dear,” she gasped softly, bringing her opposite arm up to her mouth gently.

“Everything, huh? Well, that’s the biggest thing in my childhood. If you must know.”

“I don’t want to pry, but did you ever look for your birth parents?”

Crowley shook her head, “Nah, never cared much. Allegedly my birth mother died during birth. Not too keen on finding my real dad. Not that my adopted dad isn’t my real dad, he very much is.”

Aziraphale smiled at that, “Do you have any siblings?”

“Oh no. My parents had their hands full enough with me. Especially once puberty started, the poor things. Wonderful parents stuck with the most rebellious teenager,” Crowley laughed fondly to herself, “D’you?”

There was a brief pause, a slight hesitation from Aziraphale, “Well,” she drew out the vowel, “I don’t have any siblings by blood. My mother did, however, marry later in life, six years before her passing. And I acquired a step-brother. A rather loud American family, but my mother’s husband is kind. And treated her well as she died. He loves her that’s for sure.”

“A step-brother? You like him?”

She scoffed, “Hardly. And you’ve met him so I’m sure you share the same sentiments.”

Crowley stopped, looking up at her, “I’ve met him? What d’you mean I’ve met him?” She searched furiously through her memories of ever being introduced to a brother by Aziraphale.

“Crowley, my step-brother is Gabriel White.”

Her jaw hung open a moment, shock seeping into her system, “That tosser is your brother?”

She laughed, a tinkling bright thing, “Yes. He’s just terrible, isn’t he?”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Oh Aziraphale, I couldn’t stand him. Oh no and I said he was right about you, oh, I’m a fuckin’ idiot, aren’t I? He’s a wanker and a liar and an arse, as well.”

Aziraphale lost it in a fit of laughter, “I wish I could defend him but by God, you’re right.”

The laughter settled as an uneasy quiet fell between them; the acknowledgment of Crowley’s outburst hanging between them once more. It lingered as Crowley finished the outline of her right arm and moved to the left, “You doing all right? Need a moment or anything?”

“I’m quite all right my dear. Steady on.”

As she started to repeat the same ministrations from the right arm, Crowley felt compelled to speak once more, “You know, I really am sorry for lashing out like that. It was unfair of me and really just rude. I said some really low things that I knew would hurt just because I was angry and I wanted you to hurt like I did. And it was terrible of me to do and I’m sorry.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment, “You know, I didn’t want to forgive you at first because…” she drifted trying to find the words, “I don’t know how to say this without being a little abrasive. My last partner was abusive. She would scream and yell and make me feel like everything was my fault,” the needle stopped again, that familiar guilt washing over Crowley, “What made it feel different with you though was the honest regret I saw. With her, she would apologize but always tried to say it was something I did. ‘I’m sorry I yelled, you just get so picky and it drives me mad’ or whatever suited the conversation.

“She weaponized my least favorite things about myself and made them into personal attacks even when they were completely unrelated to the argument,” Crowley closed her eyes, regret at using Aziraphale’s insecurities against her ramming at her heart, “Least with yours, it had some merit. It still hurt but you were within the space to use those things against me.”

“No, I wasn’t, Angel. It’s never right to do that and it was wrong of me to throw something you trusted me with back into your face like that. We both know that” Crowley hung her head.

She smiled, “I suppose I can agree with that. But when I saw you at Madam Tracy’s, I knew-- you didn’t react to hurt me, you did it to protect yourself in a way that you knew. Which happened to hurt me,” she lifted Crowley’s face to meet hers, “And you feel so terrible about it. You’re so apologetic and you take the blame but still look for my side of things. You made the mistake and you want to fix it and I can tell you’re genuine.

“So, my dear, I forgive you, of course I do. And I will help you as much as I can to deal with your stress and anger that aren’t whatever that was because you are so dear to me and I know you want to change,” her eyes were brimming with tears, matching Crowley’s own.

“Thank you, Aziraphale.”

She smiled wiping the tears from Crowley’s face, “Shall we get on before this turns into the two of us crying in one another’s arms?”

Crowley blushed at that, nodding and getting back to her outline, “May I ask about the ex?”

“Of course, I have no qualms talking about her now. It’s been three years since I left and I took a lot of time to re-evaluate some of the things she forced onto me.”

“What finally made you leave?”

“I worked up the courage to do it for months. I knew what she was doing was wrong and terrible but there was still that part of me that desperately believed it was because she loved me. And that I could change it all by loving her enough,” Aziraphale let out a long sigh, “The only reason I left is that I was talking with my mother one night and mentioned how she said something particularly malicious and it broke my heart. And my mother looked at me and said ‘I’ll never understand how someone can look at you and choose to hurt you like that.’

“It changed my entire view of the situation. Something about that statement made me realize I was worth much more than what she was offering. But I knew she’d never let me go of my own volition. So I packed my things while she was at work and moved out one day. All I left her was a letter.”

Crowley glanced up at her, “And she just let you go?”

“Oh no, absolutely not. She called and texted me every day. Tried to show up at the shop. Then she got angry. And finally, she just stopped.”

Crowley stopped her needle for a moment, “You deserve so much better than that, Aziraphale. Worlds better.”

A faint blush warmed Aziraphale’s cheeks, “I know, my dear. You showed me that plenty.”

Silence permeated the shop once again, broken only by Crowley checking in occasionally, ensuring Aziraphale didn’t need anything. 

Finished with the outline, Crowley prepped to shade, “Now shading is a little more painful so really, Angel--”

“Crowley, I give this speech every day, I’m well aware.”

She smiled at the fierceness in her voice and began shading, focusing intently, “Y’know despite hating that I decided to be a tattoo artist, both of my parents got tattoos from me.”

“Is that so?”

“Yep. Matching ones at that.”

“Oh, that is rather sweet.”

Crowley let out a short bark of a laugh, “They got it to make fun of me.”

“I beg your pardon?” Crowley could hear the knit in her brow.

“Well, I was a rebellious teenager, yeah? And they were really delightful parents looking back, trying to support me. But at one point I got really into the punk scene. And that’s one thing that terrified them for some reason or another. Think they had some weird notion that it was filled with drugs or something. But I wrote them this long, long letter because I overheard them saying they hoped it was a phase. I told them how I was going to become a tattoo artist and be gay and go to shows were girls were doing acid. And in big red letters at the end, I wrote ‘It’s not a phase’ in all capitals.”

“Was it a phase?”

“Not exactly. I morphed into the straight-edge scene when I was about twenty. Eventually left when I broke up with my girlfriend almost two years ago now. But they got ‘not a phase’ as a nod to that letter for their anniversary. ‘S in my writing and everything.”

“Girlfriend?” Aziraphale’s tone became a little more insistent.

“Yeah, the one I had when I met Tracy. The one Tracy convinced me to break up with actually.”

“Oh, that’s right. May I ask about her in return?” Crowley hummed her assent, “Why did you want to break up with her? Or rather what did Tracy have to say in order to make you do it?”

“Micah was adamant about pinning me down. She wanted to force me to settle down with her. And I have always been uneasy with people. We’d hardly known each other as partners for a year. We’d met in our early twenties in passing and then kinda made a thing of it. And she wanted a marriage which I wasn’t ready for.”

Crowley could sense Aziraphale tensing up, “And is that not something you want? Settling down?”

“Well, I do now. Before I just didn’t see the point in limiting your options. Choosing one person to divulge all your secrets to and trust in indefinitely. And I still think that’s a valid view to have but…” she drifted off.

“But what?” Aziraphale relaxed some, “What changed?”

 _You._ Crowley shook her head, “It seems nice now. To have somebody who trusts in you like that. That wants to see every part of you and still love you when they see the worst bits.”

Aziraphale beamed at that, “I was hoping you’d say something like that. I’m quite the hopeless romantic. It’s all those books, you see…” and she began to fill the room with her chatter about this and that in the way that Crowley was familiar with. 

As she finished up shading one arm and began the other, Crowley’s heart filled with joy. Seeing her angel happily prattle on about whatever book she had most recently read and how it really was a distasteful portrayal of relationship dynamics made her soul ache. This was what she never had with Micah and it’s what made her so wary in other relationships.

People expected her to share things, to open up and speak and fill the silence. Aziraphale never pushed or prodded and even in this conversation, she was always polite in her questioning. She gave Crowley the space to share what she wanted when she wanted. And she filled the silence for her, blathering about the things she loved most-- which Crowley loved to hear.

“I love hearing you talk,” Crowley interrupted her current tirade about the superiority of classic literature to modern fiction.

Aziraphale faltered, “You what?”

Crowley realized the irony of her statement, “Sorry, I was listening I just, uh, had to say it, I s’pose. It makes me happy to hear you talk about things you love.”

A few moments pass where the only noise in the shop was the faint buzzing of the needle, “Do you really mean that?”

After her initial shock, Crowley answered passionately, “yes!”

“All my life I’ve been told I talk far too much for one person. It’s just that I have rather a lot of opinions.”

“And I love hearing them. You should know that.”

Aziraphale hummed contentedly, then resumed her tirade. Filling the rest of their time with other interesting facts and opinions that Crowley commented on here and there.

As Crowley cleaned the finished product and allowed Aziraphale to look, Crowley finally asked the question that had been biting at her, “Why angel feathers?”

A sly smile crept up Aziraphale’s lips, “Why don’t we discuss that when these are all healed, hm? About three weeks from now?”

“Okay, yeah sure. Hoarding secrets from me now, huh?”

She stepped up close to Crowley, just a sliver between them, “Let’s just say I have a surprise waiting for you,” she smiled coyly, those eyes burning with passion, and stepped back, “So how much?”

“I’m not charging you, Angel.”  
“I will not hear that one bit, give me a price.”

“Well, I’m not taking payment from you, ” they stared at one another without budging, “You’re absolutely mad if you think I’m taking any money from you for those.”

Aziraphale sighed, “Then let me tattoo you some time.”

“Okay, deal,” she laughed, wondering where in hell they could find a place for anything.

“Until three weeks?”

“I’ll call you between then?”

The warmth in her smile still made Crowley’s heart ache, “Every night, I’d hope.”

Crowley’s face broke into a wide, genuine smile and Aziraphale pressed a quick kiss to her cheek before spinning for the door.

“Good night, Crowley.”

“Night, Angel.”

* * *

Three weeks had dragged by at the speed of light, seeming endless and rapid at the same time. Crowley called Aziraphale every night since then and they had discussed everything from work to family to love to food to minor interests and every subject in between. Crowley had opened the floodgates and she had no intention of closing them any time soon.

Once Aziraphale learned that Crowley had a love for gardening, she began to send pictures of her dying herb plants to Crowley looking for remedies. To which Crowley sent the very best advice she could (and a plea for Aziraphale to cook for her, which Aziraphale was all too happy to agree to). Most of their relationship from before had remained the same. They continued to send pictures of their work to one another and even swap client stories throughout the weeks.

Crowley even received one precious selfie of Aziraphale laughing with absolute glee as she correctly took the photo, only caption “Adam taught me how to selfie.” She was radiant even through a camera.

When the day finally came for Crowley’s “surprise,” she couldn’t help but find herself giddy with anticipation. Once she finished with her only client for the say, Bee was all too happy to watch the shop.

“You’re acting like a five-year-old again just happier now,” they complained, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m thrilled you’re happy but hell, you’re just so much.”

Crowley laughed, “Well, I’ll be out of your hair then. Be safe, don’t rob me,” she pulled on her jacket, leaving her glasses in the pocket.

“There goes my plan for the night, then.”

She made it to Aziraphale’s shop in record time, nearly sweating in the cold. When she entered, she was greeted by the familiar four faces that had stopped her from talking to Aziraphale last time.

“Oh, hey Crowley,” Adam smiled, “Here for Miss Fell?”

“Yeah, we have plans or something.”

Pepper looked confused, “She just left though.”

“That’s strange” Crowley began to take her jacket off, sweaty from her walk, “We made these plans weeks ago.”

“Maybe she forgot?” Brian spoke up.

“No. ‘S not like Miss Fell,” Adam shook his head, “Maybe she went to grab something for you.”

“Maybe,” Crowley pushed her sleeves up, revealing her tattoos, grabbing Pepper’s attention immediately.

“Those are amazing, can I look?” But she was already grabbing her arm to examine the ink.

“If you’d like, I can show you my whole arm.”

The kids crowded around her now as she took off her long sleeve. In just her undershirt, most of her chest and arms were completely exposed, allowing the kids to look as they pleased. She began pointing to different ones as they all admired them.

“Which one is your favorite?” Wensleydale piped up.

“Oh my face tattoo, by far,” She tucked her hair behind her ear to reveal the snake tattoo by her temple. They gazed briefly at it before looking at the rest of her tattoos. While they were talking about the different styles and colors, the shop bell alerted them to a visitor.

“Miss Crowley’s here for you Miss Fell,” Adam pointed at Crowley as she turned back towards Aziraphale.

Aziraphale’s eyes took their time looking her up and down, smiling with those coy lips and hungry eyes, “Why don’t you head home for the day, Adam. I think I’m going to close up shop for the night.”

“Really? All right. We can head to the pub then guys,” they began packing up their things, heading out in a hurry, “See ya tomorrow, Miss Fell.”

With just the two of them in the room, Crowley suddenly felt very naked, just a small undershirt covering her torso. There was an electric aura around them, one unfamiliar to Crowley.

Suddenly it seemed hard to speak, “So you, uh, y-you had a, uh, surprise?”

Aziraphale stepped forward, dark, hungry eyes never leaving her own, “Something of the sort. You want to know about the feathers, right?” She pulled her sleeves up to reveal the nicely healed tattoos.

“I’d love to,” Crowley took a step back as Aziraphale took a step closer to accommodate her closeness.

“My mother, as you know, didn’t want me to have tattoos. As a tattoo artist, that wasn’t really in the cards. So,” Aziraphale shrugged off her jacket, “my mother made me promise if I simply had to get tattoos, I should leave my forearms bare. In case I had to find a career elsewhere,” she took another step just too close to Crowley causing her to step back to give her more space.

“Now my mother had one exception to this rule. If I found an artist that I thought was extraordinary,” another step forward, “particularly skilled,” another step, “and devoted to their craft. I could tattoo my forearms.”

Crowley was lost here, “Are you saying that you think I’m those things?”

“Yes, my dear,” she smiled, “but not just that,” Aziraphale moved to take off her sweater revealing her upper arms and chest to Crowley for the first time since she’d met her.

Covering her arms, back and chest were the most extraordinary tattoos: trees of all different shades, watercolor flowers, rivers and streams, various kinds of animals and portraits (some of which looked like characters from novels). All beautifully drawn and inked.

Crowley reached out instinctively turning her to see her back, covered in similar themes with the edges of a mirror poking above her camisole, “You drew these all?”

“Most of them. I had other artists practice here and there. I tattooed all of the ones I could fully reach which was mostly my legs.”

Crowley was awestruck and, honestly, felt a bit like an idiot, “Well I was a bit daft.”

Aziraphale laughed, “Hardly. I never showed you, how would you know?”

“I still don’t understand, though,” Crowley thoroughly enjoyed the compliment of her work but was overwhelmed with the beauty of the art on Aziraphale’s body.

She took another step forward, pinning Crowley to the wall, “What I mean to say, my dear, is that of all the artists I’ve met, the ones I trained with, my own mentor, none of them compared to you.”

Crowley’s breath left her for a moment, feeling the heat of Aziraphale’s gaze and her heart beating rapidly in her chest, “Oh?”

“Even before I met you, I knew you were skilled enough. But what really made the decision,” she traced a finger down Crowley’s jaw, sending a shiver down her spine, “Was your passion. For your shop, the art,” she tilted Crowley’s chin so their eyes were level, lips close enough to brush when they spoke, “And, finally, for me.”

Crowley began to stammer, the faintest hint of their lips brushing causing her brain to stop functioning, “I-- I--, Az--, Angel, that’s-- I--”

Aziraphale’s coy little smile returned and she pulled back just enough to allow Crowley to breathe again, “So I’d found my artist to make good on my mother’s requirements. And what better way to pay homage to my darling mother than by the very own nickname you two gave me?”

Crowley’s brain began functioning at half capacity, her tone sickly sweet, “Oh, angel…”

“Please, let me finish, darling,” Crowley felt her knees go weak, help up only by Aziraphale’s gentle grip on her chin, “I thought there would be no better way for me to honor my mother and you.”

“But, me? For what?”

Those blue eyes sparkled with merriment, “Oh, Crowley, is it not evident already?”

“I’m ‘fraid not. I’m pretty dense, remember?”

Aziraphale laughed softly, “For letting me fall in love again.”

The pieces finally snapped into place for Crowley, the roiling pit in her stomach, the ache in her soul, the tiny voice in her head all sighing simultaneously, a small “oh” coming out in realization.

“Is that okay, Crowley?” her voice was so warm, it soothed the aches Crowley didn’t know she had, “To be in love with you?”

Without fully processing the question, Crowley finally blurted out what every part of her had wanted to say since they’d patched this whole thing up, “I love you.”

The smile that spread across Aziraphale’s face became the most important thing to Crowley at that moment, so she said it again, causing Aziraphale to laugh, the smallest purest thing.

Aziraphale looked to Crowley’s lips then back to her eyes, “May I?”

“Please, god, yes,” and Aziraphale gently cupped both sides of her face pulling her in for a kiss.

Immediately, Crowley’s arms wrapped around her waist, trying to find a way to pull her closer than she already was. One of Aziraphale’s hands found their way to the back of Crowley’s head, gently cradling her while also giving her a way to pull her hair just a touch.

Aziraphale’s lips were just as soft as Crowley had imagined and twice as gentle, while Crowley felt like a drowned man gasping for air, Aziraphale seemed the beach Crowley could land on. While Crowley pushed just a little firmer, grasping at Aziraphale a little tighter, Aziraphale ran a soothing hand down Crowley’s back, pulling back briefly.

“I’m not going anywhere, Crowley,” she brushed her lips against her jaw, pressing little kisses onto her cheeks, “However long you want, I’ll be right here.”

Breathy and broken, Crowley responded as fast as she could, “Forever?”

With a soft laugh and another quick kiss, Aziraphale smiled, “Forever.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's it for plot!!! are we satisfied that they made up? are we shocked by aziraphale's sick tatted body? do we love absolutely love-stricken crowley? tell me all your thoughts.
> 
> it's been an absolute joy writing this and i'm excited for the epilogue (spoilers my babes, it's smut). your comments have been so so lovely to read and i'm grateful for all of you who read through. i'll likely be posting some one shots after this until i flesh out the other multichapter fic i'm trying to envision.
> 
> also i forgot to write it in and then got lazy but your tattoo artist should ask if the placement of your tattoo is good before they get to inking! if they don't ASK to see where it is first and make sure it's really where you want it. this is most definitely from experience (hey way too high ankle tat).


	9. An End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i am so very sorry to keep you waiting my dears, i have an explanation in the end notes but i hope it's worth the wait.

Aziraphale untangled herself gently from Crowley as to not wake her and prodded lightly to the kitchen to begin her regular morning routine.

Since they’d said their “I love you’s” three months prior, Crowley and Aziraphale established a bit of a schedule. Most nights, Crowley would cook for Aziraphale at her flat, loudly complaining about how many books were laying about, especially around the precious counter space. Then they would drink just enough to get drowsy and wander off to bed hand in hand. They’d share some sweet, lazy kisses (and sometimes some much more passionate exchanges) and fall asleep in each other’s arms.

Today, like most mornings, Aziraphale woke up before Crowley to read and drink her first cup of tea. She spent an hour delving into  _ The Hobbit _ (a reread but she could never get enough of it) before setting about brewing a cup of coffee for Crowley.

After brewing the coffee, she normally brought the cup to Crowley, sitting beside her to coax her out of bed. Not that Crowley really needed coaxing, but Aziraphale knew it made her feel cared for, even if she never breathed a word of it.

But on this lazy Tuesday morning, Aziraphale stopped at the doorway, coffee in hand, enamored by the sight on her bed. Crowley was spread about the bed, limbs at odd angles, and face glued to her phone. With the faint morning light spilling in through the windows, her hair shone like fire.

Aziraphale took a moment to languidly rake her eyes up Crowley’s body, admiring her long legs, the way they were arranged in a lazy, sprawled heap, the sharp lines and contours of her body, the way she looked so delicately arranged but completely relaxed. She drank in every detail until she met Crowley’s eyes, brown eyes boring into her blue ones, a hint of a smirk at the edge of her mouth.

“You going to come over?” her tone was light and mischievous, “Or am I going to be on display all morning?”

With that, Aziraphale stode to her bedside, placed the mug on the end table beside them, and moved to straddle Crowley on the bed. She relished in the surprise that washed over Crowley’s features and pressed a firm, though chaste, kiss on her lips.

She trailed a few more kisses up Crowley’s jaw, causing Crowley to tighten her grip on Aziraphale’s hips, “Good morning, my dear,” the breathy voice punched the air right out of Crowley, as Aziraphale intended it to.

“Ngk- Morning, Angel,” Aziraphale could hear her breath catching and the vibrations in her throat as she kissed down Crowley’s neck, nipping occasionally, “Isn’t this a nice break from routine,” Crowley moved her head to catch Aziraphale’s lips with her own.

Aziraphale allowed her only a brief second of control before tugging at her bottom lip with her teeth. The small gasp from Crowley gave Aziraphale the chance to sweep her tongue into Crowley's mouth.

A small whine crept out from Crowley only spurring Aziraphale’s movements to be hungrier. She carded her fingers into the hair at the base of Crowley’s hair, gripping tightly and tugging her head back allowing their lips to part and a needy moan to escape Crowley's mouth.

“Oh did you like that, dear?” Aziraphale stayed close enough to Crowley’s mouth that each syllable caused their lips to brush, using her hand in Crowley’s hair to keep her from surging forward to close the sliver of space between them.

Crowley made a breathy, needy noise in response prompting Aziraphale to tut gently, “We use our words, darling. How else am I to know when I should or shouldn’t continue otherwise?”

Crowley's voice came out ragged and raw, as if she could hardly find a voice at all, “Please.”

“Please what, my dear?” Crowley tried to pull against the hand in her hair but was met by a stronger grip, making her go limp with a whine.

“Kiss me, touch me, fuck me. Anything, Angel. Pl—“ she was cut off by Aziraphale’s own hungry lips meeting hers. She released Crowley’s hair, eliciting a whimper turned moan when Aziraphale gripped Crowley's hands, entwining them with her own and pinning Crowley's arms above her head.

Aziraphale kissed her way up Crowley’s jaw, nibbling at her ear a moment when she reached it.

Aziraphale could feel the smile (or bastard smirk, as Crowley called it) creep it’s way across her face as she whispered, low and haughty, “You want me to fuck you, dear?”

Crowley could only whine in response— the breath punched out of her once again by Aziraphale’s bold words. “Now that’s no proper answer,” she sucked a small bruise at the junction of Crowley’s jaw and ear, making it harder for Crowley to process the thoughts required for speaking.

When her brain finally did catch up, and after Aziraphale had left a trail of marks down Crowley’s neck, her voice was hardly audible, “Yes.”

She squeezed Crowley’s hands and brought herself back to eye level with Crowley, “Hmm? I can’t seem to hear you,” Aziraphale's teasing drove Crowley mad with desire.

Her voice came back stronger this time, her eyes boring into Aziraphale’s own, “Fuck me, Angel,” Crowley looked prepared to beg but was cut off by a firm kiss from Aziraphale. Her tongue finding Crowley’s as they explored each other’s mouths, urging themselves closer together. Untangling their hands as she trailed her hands gently down Crowley’s arms, Aziraphale’s fingers ghosted along Crowley's breasts as they trailed their way down to her hips.

As Aziraphale played with the hem of her shirt, Crowley seemed to realize the newfound freedom of her arms and grabbed at just about any inch of Aziraphale as she could.

Aziraphale stifled some giggles as she felt Crowley's hands flit about her, gripping her hair, moving to her breasts, her waist, her hips, her arse. Never staying still for too long. As Crowley excitedly grabbed handfuls of her, Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s shirt, causing Crowley to lean up quickly, her hands finally resting and using Aziraphale’s bottom to steady her as she shimmied out of her shirt one arm at a time, never letting both arms off of Aziraphale’s body.

Pausing between lazy kisses, Aziraphale smiled, “This would go a lot faster if you weren’t so hell bent on touching me constantly,” she brushed her fingertips along Crowley's nipples.

“No fun in that,” she gripped Aziraphale’s wrists, directing her hands more firmly to her chest. “Now quit being a tease, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale hummed thoughtfully, heated gaze directed at Crowley as she thumbed over one of Crowley's nipples gently, “You think this is teasing?” she lowered herself so she could her hot breath would ghost over Crowley’s other nipple, never breaking eye contact. “I don’t think you know what teasing is, my love.”

She stopped the ministrations of her hand and began trailing her fingers, barely a ghost of a touch, down Crowley's side, gliding across her thigh to her knee, slowly dragging them up the inside of her thigh. She paused just before reaching the wet heat of Crowley’s center. Lazily kissing down her stomach, Aziraphale switched hands as she repeated the feather light touches to the opposite side.

As she got closer to the waistband of Crowley’s shorts, she lifted Crowley up higher onto the bed, sinking lower herself.

“Be a dear and slip these off, won’t you?” Aziraphale’s tone dripped with innocence as her eyes flashed with a dark passion.

Aziraphale couldn’t help but smile at the focus and urgency that Crowley had. Her attention was put completely on maneuvering her legs out of the small short, a string of cusses pouring out of her mouth quietly, pausing only once she was done to take in Aziraphale’s fully clothed body, “Now that’s a sin, Aziraphale,” when Aziraphale cocked her head in question, Crowley’s gaze turned hungry. “To keep the Lord’s handiwork hidden away like that,” she leaned forward with more intent now, hands finding the hem of Aziraphale’s nightdress, “when you should be worshipped,” she began lifting the dress off of Aziraphale, sure to drag her arms along her skin as she did so, raising goosebumps on Aziraphale’s skin.

Crowley relished in the sight of Aziraphale’s skin slowly coming into view. Aziraphale couldn’t help the delighted wiggle as the dress slipped off her and she could begin her teasing once again just as Crowley couldn’t help but watch as Aziraphale’s body moved.

Using Crowley’s distracted, hungry gaze to her advantage, Aziraphale leaned gently forward, placing their foreheads together and caressing the inside of Crowley’s leg. With a breathy sigh, Crowley’s eyes fluttered shut, the first sense of real pressure sending her nerves into a fray. Aziraphale knew she’d hardly adjusted to that touch when she slid two of her fingers between Crowley’s folds, circling around her clit briefly before slowly plunging into her, the wet slide of her fingers eliciting a hum of approval.

After the long wait, Crowley gasped and let her head fall back, giving Aziraphale the perfect angle to continue kissing and sucking at Crowley’s throat. She used the same achingly slow tempo she had used the entire time, driving Crowley mad as she thrust her fingers deeply but leisurely, rubbing her clit at an unhurried, steady rate all the while. Crowley tried bucking her hips to match but was met only with Aziraphale’s firm grip on her hip, forcing Crowley to whine.

Her pace stuttered only when Crowley finally seemed fed up with the sedate pace and gripped at Aziraphale’s hair, pulling back firmly to lean her back and dip low enough to take Aziraphale’s nipple into her mouth. This earned Crowley a low groan of pleasure and a few quicker thrusts of her fingers, but Aziraphale quickly recovered.

“Sneaky girl,” Aziraphale’s smile bled into her voice as she released Crowley’s hip to grasp at her hair. Another moan escaped her when Crowley pulled lightly at the bud with her teeth before switching to the other breast.

With no hand to stop her, Crowley began to fuck herself on Aziraphale’s finger-- Aziraphale finally letting her control the pace but maintaining the slow rhythm on her clit. She could feel Crowley beginning to tighten around her, crooking her fingers to catch the sensitive patch of her center.

The new stimulation ripped a high moan, verging on cry from Crowley’s throat, “Oh fuck, Angel,” Aziraphale could hear the closeness in her voice and matched Crowley’s own hips pace, ripping a genuine cry from Crowley, “Right there, oh fuck, Aziraphale--” with a sharp intake of breath, Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s walls tighten around her. Aziraphale caught Crowley’s cry in her mouth, slowing her pace as she languidly kissed her.

Slipping her fingers out from Crowley, she parted from Crowley to slip her middle finger into her mouth tasting her lover’s spend before slipping her ring finger into Crowley’s own mouth.

Their eyes never left each other and a new flame seemed to kindle in Crowley’s eyes. She pulled Aziraphale into her arms, kissing her fiercely and lying back. She nipped at Aziraphale’s lip, earning her a small gasp that allowed her to delve into Aziraphale’s mouth. Her tongue explored every part of her mouth, sliding along Aziraphale’s, messy and hot. 

She pulled back from Aziraphale only to begin her own worship of Aziraphale’s neck, kisses broken only by her request, “Let me taste you, Angel.”

Aziraphale let out a shaky breath, hot with want, and wordlessly began to roll off the top of Crowley only to be stopped. When she met Crowley’s eyes, Crowley shook her head softly and used her finger to beckon her up. Now it was Aziraphale’s turn to have the breath punched out of her, “Are you sure?”

Crowley gripped her hips tightly, “Positive.”

Aziraphale pressed a quick kiss to Crowley’s lips and rose up to straddle her face. With the first gentle swipe of Crowley’s tongue, Aziraphale gripped the headboard, trying to stop herself from grinding down on Crowley’s face. 

Her other hand soon found purchase in Crowley’s hair as Crowley expertly licked and sucked between her folds. Crowley’s clever mouth sucking her clit with gentle force broke the restraint as Aziraphale’s head fell back in a full-fledged moan. Crowley’s arm moved up to support Aziraphale’s back as she leaned while her other hand gripped Aziraphale’s hip tightly and moaned, encouraging her to grind down further.

Aziraphale could feel Crowley’s tongue shifting and moving in rhythm with her own rolling hips. She gripped her headboard tighter as Crowley’s tongue slipped into her hole-- her tongue fucking Aziraphale gently pulled a cry from Aziraphale.

A light push on Aziraphale’s hip signalled her to lift a bit as Crowley shifted her tongue’s focus from fucking into her to rubbing circles at her clit once again and her fingers plunged deep into Aziraphale’s cunt. Aziraphale groaned, grinding down on Crowley’s fingers.

If Aziraphale’s pace was relaxed, Crowley’s was frenzied. She pumped her fingers at an impossible rate, sucking and pulling at Aziraphale’s nub enough to wrench a stream of cries from Aziraphale. The pleasure overwhelming her to the point of speechlessness-- only a string of high pitched noises escaping her.

She gripped Crowley’s hair tightly signaling her own climax as she came hard, “Fuck.”

Crowley slipped her fingers out of Aziraphale but continued slow and gently ministrations with her tongue until Aziraphale was whimpering, finally allowing her to lay beside her.

The pair shared a rather lazy, open-mouthed kiss, neither in a hurry to untangle themselves. As the kissing slowly turned to lingering pecks, Crowley finally pulled back, “Did you say ‘fuck’ when you came?” A devilish grin spread across her face.

“Oh hush, you,” Aziraphale kissed the tip of her nose, “Besides I said that long before I climaxed.”

“Well that was just you parroting back what I had said,” Crowley pouted.

A small laugh bubbled out of Aziraphale, “I suppose. Which, to be fair, it seems you did more of the fucking than I did,” the bastard smirk made an appearance once again.

Crowley rolled her eyes, “I get carried away with you. ‘Sides, I forgot the strap at home,” it was Aziraphale’s turn to roll her eyes. She laughed gently, “What? It’s true. And you made me come without it, regardless. Quite blissfully, I might add.”

Aziraphale hummed, “Well I’m happy to please.”

Crowley kissed her gently, “I’m always pleased when I’m with you, Angel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and so it's done! again, i am so very sorry for making y'all wait this long. right after i posted the last chapter, my partner and i had a very long discussion which ended in a break-up. it was rough and not expected so i got way out of it. naturally writing something like this was kinda hard. and i didn't wanna give y'all a steaming hep of garbage. BUT that break-up gave me some neat inspo for the next fic i've been working on (which starts with a break-up surprise, surprise). anyway look back for that soon-ish (hopefully)


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